


Broken Road

by laikaspeaks



Category: Fallout 3
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Child Death, Control Issues, Drug Use, F/F, F/M, First Love, Friendship, Guerrilla Warfare, Hate Sex, Implied Torture, Implied or Off-stage Rape/Non-con, Love/Hate, M/M, Mental Abuse, Multi, Murder, Mutant, Mutation, Nuclear Warfare, Polyamory, Psychological Warfare, Slavery, Starvation, Substance Abuse, War
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-10-13
Updated: 2013-07-28
Packaged: 2017-11-16 05:21:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 24,006
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/535966
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/laikaspeaks/pseuds/laikaspeaks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"This isn't a game, kid. We do this wrong and we all die. Even I know that."</p><p>The kid from Vault 101 goes careening off the tracks of fate, and in the process changes the face of the wasteland anyway. With the Enclave on the move, and the Pitt raiders becoming bolder by the day, the wasteland is in a time of flux... and the price of failure is more than anyone is willing to pay.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Flame

 

"Hello?" Connie slipped through the door into the darkened café, clinging to the door frame like it was an anchor. The light streaming in from the window outlined the old jukebox and a rectangle scuffed black-and-white linoleum. Shadows coiled under the booth tables, and crept under the stools at the bar. She could imagine the kinds of things that were lurking just outside the pool of light. Monsters that cracked your ribs apart and pulled out your heart, with scalpels for claws and jaws like retractors.

Dad said to come here after remedial English. Where was everybody? "Is a-anybody here? Dad?"

"Happy Birthday!"

The surge of light and noise made her squeak, hands shooting up to cover her eyes.

"You turned the lights on too fast, Stanley! You blinded the poor kid."

She shrank under the weight of figures looming on every side, blinking away the moisture welling in her eyes. Recognizable faces gradually swam into focus: her Dad, Amata, Amata's daddy, Old Lady Palmer, Stanley, Butch and his cronies. They were all staring, waiting for her to say or do something. Her eyes darted from one place to the next trying to land where there weren't eyes watching. Her chest grew tight around her drumming heart, while her head went oddly light. Only a gentle, warm grip around her upper arm kept the world from tipping on its axis. She knew who it was without looking.

"Thanks, Amata," she mumbled once her heart slowed, jerking her arm away. It made her uncomfortable when people noticed. Even her best friend.

The pause that followed was too heavy to bear. She dared a glance at the other girl out of the corner of her eye. Amata's tight expression made her pull a face in turn. Amata feeling bad made her feel terrible, but she didn't get a chance to apologize.

Dad gave her a moment to steady herself, but now he stepped forward and laid a hand on her shoulder. "Hey there, kiddo. Hope we didn't scare you."

His face was broad, with warm eyes and a softness around the edges that made his sharp eyes stand out even more. His hair was ruffled as if running a hand through it was the limit of his preparation for the day, and the grey at his temples and shot through his beard belied his youth. His jumpsuit was rumpled and faded, but his lab coat was so crisp and white that it all but glowed under the harsh light.

Connie was painfully aware that they didn't look much alike. He carried himself tall and strong, and everyone in the vault listened when he had something to say. He didn't scuttle around the edges of rooms like a frightened mouse.

"H-hi, Daddy," she managed to squeak.

"Happy Birthday, sweetheart!" He murmured, kneeling down to envelop her in one of his hugs. She buried her face in his shoulder and clung to his lab coat, taking comfort in the dark behind her eyelids and familiar scent of starch and antiseptic. "I'm so proud. I know your mother would -"

"Ahem. Might I have a word?"

She peeked past Dad's shoulder at the man beyond. Of course The Overseer was Amata's, but Connie didn't think he was very nice. He always talked at her, and got mad if she tried to say anything back. Dad stood as he approached, so she knotted her hands in his jumpsuit and slipped behind his legs, glad for his solid presence as the Overseer's narrowed eyes raked over them both.

The Overseer rambled on about responsibility - he did a lot of talking, most days - and even though she listened she didn't understand most of it. He seemed to find his own speech more interesting than anyone else did. Over his shoulder she could see Butch rolling a marble around on the table, and his cronies talking quietly to each other . Then the Overseer clamped a Pipboy around her left wrist. The cuff encased the lower half of her forearm in cool metal, and was set with a screen that flickered to life when she experimentally tapped a button.

After that he talked some more about being a responsible, contributing adult in the Vault and she soon lost interest, vaguely pretending to be listening while secretly watching Amata out of the corner of her eye. More than anything Connie wanted to run to her friend, and get away from this towering man.

Amata's cheeks were flushed with excitement, an unabashed smile lighting up her eyes, and Connie was thankful to see her friend wasn't still upset.

Amata normally carried herself lightly - even breaking out into skipping when her father wasn't watching - but now she stood with her hands clasped neatly at her waist, rooted to the spot except for barely perceptible bouncing on the balls of her feet.

Connie threw her a half-grin when the Overseer scanned the room to make sure everyone was listening. Amata wanted to act like the other kids, and it was almost funny how good she was at pretending otherwise. When the Overseer finally returned to his seat and Dad headed off to chat with the other adults, she inched closer to her friend. Amata watched her steadily, and it made Connie's heart jump, like that look was like a thrown object she should dodge. That I've-got-a-secret grin was too charming for her own good.

A quick look around assured Connie that no one was watching. A little more confident, she leaned closer to mumble, "Umm… thank you, Amata… for the party and… stuff…." I would've made a scene if you hadn't grabbed me.

Amata's smile widened and Connie couldn't help but smile back. "You like the party? We really surprised you didn't we? Your dad thought you were on to us, but I told him not to worry." Her smile widened and she playfully dug her fingers into Connie's side, earning a giggle and a none-too-gentle smack on the arm. "You're so easy to fool."

"Am not! I… I just pretended not to know."

"Riiiiiight. Ok, if you're so smart, what did I get you for your birthday?"

Connie shrugged, defeated without effort. "I dunno."

"Who's your favorite barbarian?" The younger girl held the comic out with a flourish and pressed it into Connie's hands, adding under her breath, "Grognak the Barbarian, Issue Fourteen, with no missing pages. I found it in a box of my Dad's old things. Can you believe it? I guess everybody was ten once."

"Tha-" She didn't have time to say more before she was unceremoniously pushed toward the rest of the party, struggling against Amata's hands. "Hey…"

"Go mingle, okay?" Amata laughed, giving Connie one last shove that sent the girl stumbling into the smiling crowd. "Go on. It's your party, Connie."

She turned back to give the other girl a pleading look, but Amata's face left no room for argument. It was always like that, Connie admitted to herself with a sigh. Amata would give her a look that disarmed her completely, and even if she kept making up excuses, the end was always the same. Amata would get her way sooner or later. It was just easier to give in. "Okay."

Amata beamed, and Connie's irritation was gone as soon as it came.

Paul, a boy who had as much trouble forming full sentences as she did, was the next to wish her a happy birthday. The conversation was mostly mumbles and bashful head-ducking, punctuated by him stepping on her foot.

She made a quick retreat to Old Lady Palmer. It was awkward to stand next to someone sitting, even if it put that person at eye level. Connie picked at the peeling red plastic on the booth bench, avoiding Mrs. Palmer's button-bright eyes. Connie thought she was pretty, with a cloud of snowy white hair and a leathery face that always creased into a smile when they met. Mrs. Palmer was shorter than most of the people in the vault, but always swore she used to be taller. She wasn't really sure how that worked. Did you shrink when you got old?

"Hello."

"Why hello, Constance! Are you having a nice party? Ten years old, my, my, my. Seems like only yesterday your Daddy came -"

Old Lady Palmer broke off and chuckled, pinching Connie's cheek affectionately. "Goodness, listen to me ramble! You're waiting for your present, aren't you?"

Connie gritted her teeth. She liked Old Lady Palmer a lot, almost as much as Jonas and Stanley, but that did not make it any easier to hear the name her Dad had saddled her with.

Yes. "You didn't have to bring me anything… ma'am."

"Fiddlesticks! What ten-year-old doesn't like presents?"

Connie suppressed a giggle in her hands. Fiddlesticks? She'd have to tell Amata later.

"I was ten once, believe it or not! My goodness, the Vault was practically crowded back then. Not like today, so few young people now - but here I am rambling on again, and you listening so politely." The old woman smiled, still-bright eyes crinkling at the corners.

Had Old Lady Palmer noticed her fidgeting? Connie always tried to pay attention, but it seemed like she talked about the 'good old days' more and more lately.

"Here you go; a nice sweetroll that I baked for you just this morning. And it's all for you – no sharing required today!"

Connie smiled at the paper-wrapped parcel. It was still warm. "Oh! Thank you, ma'am."

"Attention everyone!" interjected a loud voice, the cheery tone unhindered by it's mechanical drone. "Time to cut the cake!"

"Andy, no!"

The whirr of a buzz saw came shortly after.

Connie felt something soft smack the back of her head and dribble down the collar of her jumpsuit. When she brushed the back of her neck, her hand came away covered in white frosting. She turned slowly. Dad, Stanley, and Amata, who were the closest to the 'disaster zone' were splattered with hunks of cake and frosting. The looks of shock on their faces was just too funny. "Oh… Amata… Dad, you - you look so…" She couldn't breathe.

"Shut up." Amata's annoyance didn't quite reach her eyes.

"Terribly sorry," muttered Andy, the Mister Handy robot its mechanic limbs drooping with a tangible air of sadness. "How clumsy of me."

Connie was always fascinated by the machine – a hovering orb equipped with three googly eyes and three arms, each tipped with a saw, claw, and flamethrower respectively. She circled the counter to pat his metal shell, the mechanisms beneath humming against her palm. "S'okay Andy."

He turned one of his bright 'eyes' to gaze down at her, and she recognized it as a look of appreciation. "Thank you, Miss."

She only giggled in response.

"So how do you like that Pip-boy, little lady?" A work-rough hand ruffled her hair.

Her face broke out into a grin as she turned to see Stanley leaning over the bar. Connie hefted the heavy hunk of metal and glass attached to her left wrist, tracing over the dials and scuff marks with her other hand. "It's great, Stanley. You picked it out yourself, right?"

He didn't look like an old man when he smiled. "You bet! It's a 3000A, simple, but more reliable than some of the more complicated models. You could drop a bomb on the thing and it would run a like a charm. By the way…" He tossed her a blue baseball cap. "Happy birthday."

"It's nice." Connie's voice lowered as her throat tightened. She wanted to thank him for much more than the cap. He had always been kind. She settled for putting the hat on, taking the time to pull her ponytail out of the hole in the back. She flashed him a shy smile. "Thanks."

Without another word she made a beeline for her dad and Amata – she'd made her rounds, there was no need to do anything else.

She noted that Amata was talking to the preacher's son, and felt a mild flash of jealousy. Todd Applegate was brilliant and outgoing, and was often mentioned in the same breath as Amata. How cute they looked together, how they would lead the vault to a bright new future. It left a sour taste in Connie’s mouth. Such thoughts were interrupted by Butch looming over her, his lips twisting into a dark scowl. Even as scrawny as he was, Butch was quite a bit bigger and much meaner.

"I'm hungry," the boy growled. "Gimme that sweetroll you got off old lady Palmer."

"M - mrs. Palmer said I didn't have to share today." She meant to say it more firmly, but it came out as a whimper. Was it possible to kick yourself?

Butch's voice rose to a mocking whine. "'Mrs. Palmer said I didn't have to share'!" He crossed his arms. "Who's talking about sharing, moron? I want the whole thing. Now are you going to give me that sweetroll, or am I going to have to give you knuckle sandwich?"

Connie tilted her head to the side and stared, as if seriously considering his question. Go soak your head Butch, I'm not giving you my sweetroll, she imagined herself saying, and it was painfully tempting to voice this thought aloud. Or slam a fist into his ugly face.

The silence drew out, and Butch shifted uncomfortably. He almost looked like he wanted to abandon the idea and sit down again with his cronies, but his pride wouldn't let him. The truth was, Connie was frozen. She wasn't slow as the other kids thought, but sometimes the words got stuck in her throat, or came out jumbled and twisted.

Luckily for her, Dad noticed the standoff. He crossed the room in a few strides and settled one hand on her shoulder, guiding her towards the door. "How about you head down to the reactor level? Jonas and I have been cooking up a little surprise present for you."

She shivered thankfully as the door slid shut behind her. For a moment she just stood there alone under the harsh lights, listening to the chatter from the party filter into the silent hallway. It was both alienating and comforting.

* * *

A few hours later she was back where she liked best.

"What's Butch's problem, anyway? I can't believe he tried to start a fight at your own birthday party! What a jerk."

She was on Amata's bed, tucked against the wall with knees hugged to her chest. Amata's room was sparse, even for a Vault dweller. The furniture comprised of a metal dresser, bedside table and bed, with a few rugs scattered around. The only ornament was a photograph of her and her father. Connie liked the room because her best friend was there, even if Amata's dad was always walking by the open door and peering at them like they might be up to something bad. But Amata deserved a place to live that was as pretty as she was, and Connie thought she should do something about that.

The corners of her lips twitched, eyes tracking her pacing friend. "I dunno why you're so bothered," she said mildly. "Nothing bad happened."

"But he just makes me so mad!" Amata continued, gesticulating wildly to illustrate the injustice of it all.

Normally she was perfectly happy to focus her full attention on Amata, but today her chest felt tight. She couldn't put a name to the emotion. She closed her eyes and let her head drop back against the cool metal wall.

She eyed the scuttling creature.

The radroach ambled about fearlessly, its fragile claws scrabbling for purchase on the smooth floor.

True, she could shoot it as Daddy suggested, but it would be a waste of bullets. She hopped over the barricade - and hesitated.

The radroach hissed and flared its wings, in the background she could hear her Dad shouting in alarm.

"Connie!"

As the insect scuttled closer, she had a sudden brainwave. She spun the gun in her hands and smashed the butt into the roach, over and over again until the creature's flimsy carapace shattered with a satisfying crunch. Her heart was thundering in her chest, frustration coiling in her back and shoulders. She was angry at the Overseer, her Dad, stupid Butch and his stupid friends, and angry at herself. Churning emotions rushed to the surface and gripped her with a manic energy. Another blow sent its innards flying over the polished tiles. Another smashed it is exoskeleton into jelly. Connie reduced the roach to a gritty brown smear on the floor.

Finally she stopped, standing over the dead insect with brown muck oozing down her arms and the butt of her bb gun.

"Connie…?"

When she looked at her Dad he had the oddest expression on his face, and it made her stomach churn with shame.

"Sweetheart, I think it's time to go home."

* * *

Five months later – December 10, 2268 – was Amata's birthday. She only just barely got Connie to stay for the whole party, it took at least two hugs and five minutes of pep talk. It was worth it to have her best friend there when the pipboy was closed around her wrist.

Connie's barely tamed hair was a shock of red against the cool blues and greys that dominated the halls. Large brown eyes dominated her pallid face and the ever-present 101 jumpsuit leeched what little color remained, matching the blue veins that showed through her skin. She always seemed about ready to fold into herself, but it wasn't usually this bad.

Amata couldn't figure out why she was looking so worried; Connie was usually relaxed when they were alone. Her friend just shifted from foot to foot for a long moment, and then Connie shoved a clumsily folded paper flower into Amata's hands.

"Happy birthday," she murmured with a nervous smile.

Amata held it between her thumb and forefinger. The flower felt so delicate in her hands, bright red paper formed the wide spread petals, with pale green paper for the stem. It looked like a daisy – she'd seen them in a book somewhere. Were daisies even red?

Connie raked a hand through her hair, a nervous habit. Amata wondered if she even realized that she did. "I'm sorry it's not perfec-"

She squeaked when Amata tackled her.

* * *

It seemed like the next four years passed in a flash – four years of getting in and out of trouble, bothering the cooks in the kitchen for snacks and playing tricks on an unsuspecting Butch. Their friendship grew stronger with every passing day, and soon they spent nearly every waking hour together. Then, on January 5, 2272, things changed. Old lady Palmer always did say that was the way of the world.

The Vault Library was a veritable maze, spread out over an area almost the size of the entire residential floor. It was huge, especially compared to other areas of the vault.

Connie sat cross-legged, balanced on top of one of the heavy metal shelves. She chose to sit like this, every time they came to the library, and she insisted despite Amata pointing out the dozens of tables and armchairs scattered about the space. It bewildered the Overseer's daughter to no end. Connie didn't seem to notice, however, paging idly through a book of homilies. Suddenly she spoke aloud, startling Amata out of her thoughts: "If brevity is the soul of wit, why's it the longer word?"

Amata made a face. She sat in a squishy green velvet armchair – sort of. She was upside down, one foot dangled over the back of the chair, another thrown over one of the arms. "I don't know," she said finally. And she didn't really want to know, either. Her friend was just so weird sometimes.

The silence reigned for a moment longer; Connie scanned a copy of Tumblers Today.

Amata groaned, kicking her legs like a child. "I'm soooooo bored."

Connie smirked behind her book. "We could go ask your Dad for something to do."

She didn't get an answer.

With a twist she half-slid down the bookcase before catching herself with one of the support beams on the ceiling. She then dropped nimbly to the ground and tucked her magazine in a copy of Grognak the Barbarian she dug out of another shelf. She also ignored the guilt; her Dad was very tolerant of most of her interests, but she doubted he'd be so encouraging about lock picking.

Connie caught Amata's incredulous look. Her friend did not look excited about the idea at all.

"…Or not."

"We could go play baseball."

"No," Connie replied flatly.

"How about going to visit Todd? He'll be off today, since the Sunday service is over."

Hell no! "He'll probably be tired."

Suddenly Amata sat up. She was wearing one of her wicked smiles that left Connie feeling both wary and pleasantly lightheaded. "We could explore the sealed tunnels..."

Connie's head snapped up. She knew Amata was going to suggest something rebellious, and it was her duty as the sensible of the pair to talk her out of it, even if the attempt was pathetic and futile. "T-the tunnels are locked by terminals."

"You're good at hacking. And don't tell me you aren't – I saw you breaking into Stanley's supply closet last week." Amata's voice was almost a purr.

All Connie had left was her trump card. "Your dad will be angry if he finds out." Unbeknownst to her, that was the exact reason Amata wanted to do this.

Amata leaned almost uncomfortably close, hands clasped behind her back. A conspiratorial smile danced on her lips, dark eyes bright with mischief. She peered through her eyelashes in that way Connie always found utterly charming. "Daddy doesn't have to know."

Connie felt a rush of heat at the proximity. There was no saying no to that face. Damn.

* * *

As the Vault population shrank, unneeded tunnels and rooms were sealed off. There was no point in maintaining areas people didn't even use. Other than being dimly lit and dusty they weren't that different from the populated areas of the vault. It was a bit boring as far as Connie was concerned, one cramped maintenance tunnel looked about the same as another. Amata, who rarely wandered from the beaten path, jumped at every little creak and hiss in the dark. It was a whole new adventure for her and Connie found some enjoyment in watching her friend explore the gloom around them.

They spent almost an hour exploring the dim halls and empty rooms. Amata found a red silk ribbon between a dresser and wall; Connie a wood handled folding knife and an odd triangular crystal. Other than that, their explorations proved to be spectacularly uneventful.

Until the lights guttered out and left them in pitch darkness. Amata shrieked and latched onto Connie's arm. "What happened?!"

"Hush! I hear something." A soft rasping like fingernails on metal echoed off the walls, making it hard to tell which direction it was coming from. Connie fumbled around and snapped on her Pip-boy's light.

Clawed feet scratched on metal. A few dozen radroaches scrabbled away from the beam cutting through the dark, stopping just outside the reach of the light. She heard a sharp intake of breath behind her.

"Connie…"

"On the count of three, we're going to run," she whispered back to Amata, taking her hand and squeezing it. "Think you can keep up?"

"I - I think so…"

One of the roaches, a massive creature about the length of Connie's leg, flared and hissed. Suddenly the room sounded full of malevolent teakettles.

"Three! Three!" Connie dragged Amata along by her arm, letting out a sharp scream as the roaches swarmed up her legs. She didn’t dare stop ignoring the burn when mouthparts tore at cloth and flesh. She felt a weight settle on her head, followed by a foul smell. Every lesson she ever had about radroaches - their powerful mandibles and toxic bite - ran through her head in a jumbled mess.

The world was the muggy dark and terrified panting and Amata’s whimpers and the dry, rattling hisses of the swarm.

Then they burst through the door into the harsh light of the living quarters, a massive radroach digging its mandibles into Connie's face. She slammed the door behind her and ripped the radroach off; slinging it against the wall with such force it dropped to the ground and didn’t move again.

Amata crumpled against the door, tears running down her face. Her jumpsuit was tattered, the skin underneath littered with fine scratches and bites that were swelling into welts. "God… oh my God…"

The bites that covered her calves, back and face stung as Connie hauled herself to the younger girl's side, clinging and shivering with fear. They stayed silent like that for a long time.

"You alright?" Connie asked finally, pulling away to search her friend's face for remnants of that stark horror.

"Yeah… I think I'm okay." Amata managed a lopsided, relieved smile.

Connie's face warmed, but before she could reply a sound made her spin around to face the new threat, stiffening as she instinctively stepped in front of Amata. It wasn't a radroach, but the Overseer himself watching the two girls with icy, stern eyes. Connie groaned. She really wished it was another giant bug trying to eat her face.

"You two," the Overseer started, eyes crackling with anger, "are in a lot of trouble."

"Father," Amata gently pushed Connie aside, her voice tentative and pleading. "I can explain…"

"Connie!"

Her fists lowered, eyes moving past the Overseer to settle on Dad's familiar, concerned face. Connie's face blazed and she hurriedly looked away, a glance to her left revealing Amata pale and wide-eyed, unable to speak to her own father, mouth opening and closing soundlessly.

James stepped forward and placed a hand on Connie's shoulder. His face was stern now; Connie felt her heart sink. "Connie… I don't think I need to tell you what kind of trouble you're in?"

She hung her head shamefully – she just couldn't meet his eyes. She'd known what she was doing was wrong, but she had done it anyway. It was just so damn hard to say no to Amata.

"No."

Beside them, a very different conversation was taking place between the Overseer and his daughter.

He stared down at Amata with cool disdain. "So, you asked the Ward girl to take you to the lower levels."

Amata kept up eye contact. "Yes."

"Knowing that it was against my wishes."

"…Yes."

"And she did as you asked."

The venom in his voice stung Connie enough to wince and gave Amata her voice back. "It's not her fault! It was my idea! Connie didn't even want to, but I made her -" She knew that her friend was reluctant, but with Connie it was so easy to get what she wanted…

"Go to your room." His tone left no room for argument. "We'll talk about this later."

Amata gave him one last glare, glancing at Connie and her dad still talking quietly. The shame was heavy as bowling ball on her chest. She turned on one heel and dashed away, angry tears tracing new paths down her cheeks. The Overseer rounded on the Wards, his brown eyes – so like Amata's – utterly without pity. "I've allowed your brat to socialize with my daughter because she hasn't proved a hindrance. If she puts another toe out of line, I will personally see to it that they never speak again. I won't have my child associating with hoodlums."

A moment passed as his words sank in.

**  
**His gaze cut to Connie. "Amata is the future Overseer. As her… friend your actions reflect on her. Keep that in mind." He walked away without another word, and in the silence Connie could all but hear her dad grinding his teeth.


	2. Silent Songbird

Two years later, August 3, 2274 precisely. Connie drifted down the hall, her nose apparently buried in a copy of Dean's Electronics. In reality, she was scanning the hall over the book. The classroom was just around the corner, and she hadn't run into Butch yet, maybe she would have a bit of luck today?

"I could show you a real Tunnel Snake, Amata."

"God Butch! Why won't you just leave me alone!" Amata stood a few yards away from the classroom, surrounded by the Tunnel Snakes: Butch DeLoria, Wally Mack, and Paul Hannon. She had her arms crossed defensively, her face impassive, but anger sparked in her eyes.

"What are you going to do Amata? Run and tell your Daddy on us?" Butch sneered – he knew she would do nothing of the kind.

Oh, she was pissed. "What the hell are you doing, Butch?"

The three boys had filled out a lot over the years. They now had a full-grown man's broad shoulders and muscle mass. Connie, on the other hand, seemed to be resisting puberty. Her face was thin and her body remained boyishly slender. It didn't stop her from wanting to punch the bastard in the face, but one more black mark on her record, and she might never spend time with Amata again. Would Amata even want to see her if she let this continue?

"What are you? Her girlfriend? Ha!" He propped his left arm against the wall over Amata's head, and traced her face with his other hand. "Com'on Amata. You don't want everyone to think you're Red's girl now do ya?" Amata made a strangled sound.

Connie calmly walked up to the pair and reached out to pull Amata away, noting distantly that her hands were trembling with suppressed rage. Butch slapped her hand away. "Whatta you think you're doin' Red? Did I say she could lea-?"

Connie's fist darted out and struck Butch's face, cracking his head against the wall. He lunged, swinging wildly, blood trickling from his nose and split lip. She dodged the first two strikes; the third caught her upside the head. Amata was shouting, but she couldn't make it out over the ringing in her ears. A fist caught her in the ribs – Mack had circled around behind her. Connie hadn't thought about the other two. She kicked Wally in the gut, keeling him over, then spun back to deliver a swift jab to Butch's throat. She stomped on his foot, then danced away from a clumsy swing.

Thwock! The world exploded into white pain. A pair of work boots in Connie's vision (When did she get on the ground?) faded in and out, along with the voices. "Com'on boys, these bitches ain't worth our time." Butch's speech was unusually slurred; it seemed he had bitten his tongue at some point. A boot to the stomach cut Connie's satisfaction short. She curled in on herself, struggling for air. Panic flooded her chest as black crept into the edges of her vision. Then she knew no more.

Connie's eyes fluttered open. The light sent a bolt of pain through her skull. "Angh." She clenched her eyes shut.

"Serves you right. Idiot." There was no venom in the soft voice, and the light dimmed enough to open her eyes. Connie was in her room, which was nearly identical to Amata's room, minus any kind of decoration. Just a smattering of tools and books stacked on her dresser. Amata returned to her seat beside the bed (Connie supposed she brought it from another room). The young woman ran her hand through her disheveled hair, and Connie noticed how tired she looked. Not that it made her any less beautiful. Her baby fat was melting away; indications were she would be Vault sweetheart if the boys managed to brave her father.

"Are you feeling any better?"

Connie broke out of her thoughts. "I feel like I lost a fight."

Amata smiled weakly. "You broke a rib, your right hand, and had a minor concussion. Yeah, you lost. "

There was something wrong. Amata looked somehow lackluster, helpless… Connie forced herself to sit up, ignoring Amata's protests. "What happened?"

"What do yo-"

"Don't. Something happened after I blacked out. Tell me." Connie looked her friend in the eye, refusing to back down. Amata looked away first.

"My father said you wouldn't be punished. He told me to thank you." She ground out. "Then he said he was going to keep his promise."

 _"If she puts another_ toe _out of line, I will personally see to it that they never speak again."_

* * *

Over the next three months, Connie discovered that Amata's absence left a gaping hole in her life. She'd always been bit anti-social, so she was unprepared for the sensation of actually missing someone. No, 'missing' was too weak a term. The whole world had gone grey, cool like the steel and lights and whirring of machinery. Day after day after day of sameness and schedule. She pulled her cap down over her eyes as a chattering group of vault teens passed by, pointedly avoiding Connie. She mopped the same spot for the umpteenth time that week, then leaned on her mop and gazed through the diner window. The reason this hall was cleaner than ever before was taking a lunch break with several other supervisory track workers. Amata laughed at something someone said, probably a comment from the preacher's son, Todd Applegate. The young man had thick blond hair, classical features and bright blue eyes. At seventeen, he was the object of lust for over half the vault population. And he was sitting right next to Amata.

"Why, hello there, Constance. I was hoping you could come work on the heater in my room. The poor thing seems to have died again. I told young Freddie to take a look, but he seems to have forgotten."

Connie, plastered a smile on her face and face Old Lady Palmer, the woman had grown greyer over the years, but she was still prone to rambling. "Of course." Mrs. Palmer took it upon herself to escort Connie to her room, with a long one-sided "conversation" that consisted of Connie nodding at the appropriate moments. The old woman's room was quite different from any of the other residents'. It looked like someone had taken a grandmother's house from an old storybook and crammed it into Mrs. Palmer's tiny rooms. There was old hardwood furniture, lace and calico, porcelain figurines, and the like. The old woman seated herself on a maroon velvet couch with a cup of tea and watched Connie delve into the heaters works.

"You've seemed unhappy lately, Constance. Would you like to talk about it with an old woman?" Old Lady Palmer had been growing more and more rambling for years now, everyone knew it. She had her bad days and her good ones, but today she seemed unusually focused. Connie didn't look up from her work.

"There's nothing wrong ma'am. Just getting used to the work schedule."

"I'm getting old dear, but I'm not blind yet."

Connie sighed. What could she say? "When Amata is off, I'm working. When I'm off…" Actually, I'm always working.

Mrs. Palmer laughed. "Ahh, I remember when my Joe was alive… he was on the maintenance crew too you know. I worked in the hydroponic gardens, and we hardly saw each other for the first year after the Goat. We found ways to spend time together – you will too." Connie continued rooting around in the heater, but her face had taken on a thoughtful cast. Mrs. Palmer's face crinkled into a smile. "Ah, I have something for you. Wait here for a moment."

Connie reattached the errant wire that kept Mrs. Palmer's heater from starting, but took her time screwing the cover back on. Even with her efforts, she found herself standing awkwardly in the middle of the living room with nothing to do but watch her host dig through piles of knick-knacks.

"I'm sure I put it around here somewhere… I must be getting old. No, I lost things like this when I was young too, why I remember the time…" The old woman continued chattering. "Here it is." Mrs. Palmer dangled the object before Connie's eyes. It was a heart-shaped locket, about as big as a silver dollar. The outside was silver, covered with intricate etching of flowers and vines. An ornate little key dangled from the chain next to it, and Connie belatedly realized that the key fit into a notch on the back. "My Joe gave this to me when we were young – it belonged to his mother. I want you to have it."

Connie couldn't remember being this touched in her life. "I… I can't take something like this Mrs. Palmer. Shouldn't Jonas-?"

"Jonas? He doesn't care about things like this... It's been broken for a long time, dear, and I don't have the skill to fix it. It would be a favor to me if you took care of it for me." Connie felt her will crumbling; she never could resist a good challenge.

* * *

Three years, three long, long years later, on August 17, 2277...

"Wake up! Come on, wake up!"

Amata's face hovered a few inched over hers. Her hair was out of its usual bun, instead falling haphazardly around her face and shoulders. Three years had stripped away Amata's little remaining baby fat, revealing a facial structure that Connie bet came from her mother. Still fuzzy from sleep, she didn't notice the redness around Amata's eyes or the desperation underlying forced calm in her voice. Connie yawned and arched her back, stretching the night's stiffness from her muscles. "Come on, get up!"

Connie opened one bleary eye. "How strange… I was just dreaming about you." Amata's dumbstruck expression was completely lost on the sleepy girl. It really was nice to see her again after so lo- Wait. Connie bolted upright. "Holy- What are you doing here?" Weren't we going to meet on your birthday? And… sirens. Why are the sirens blaring? Amata's face crumpled, though Connie only caught a brief glimpse before the other girl buried her face in her hands. When she pulled them away, she was every inch the Overseer's daughter.

"Your dad… he left the vault! My father thinks Jonas helped him escape, so he had his men…" Her voice broke, but she continued. "My God… They just beat him, and beat him, and they wouldn't stop…" For a moment, Connie could do nothing but stare. She had never seen her friend this… fragile. She placed a hesitant hand on her friend's shoulder, rubbing her thumb in slow circles.

"You alright?"

"Yeah, I'm fine."Amata crossed her arms, an action that Connie remembered from their childhood together. She was _not_ fine. The mask of the Overseer settled into place, and Amata continued speaking."I'm just sorry you had to find out like this. I know Jonas was your friend. But we've got to go now. My father's men will be here any minute!" Was. Strange how it took words like that to make the truth hit home. Connie's eyes burned.

"You're right. But… where can I go?" _There's nowhere else._

The mask threatened to shatter again, but Amata kept herself under control. It hurt Connie to see the younger girl suppressing her emotions so fiercely – Amata should never have to do such a thing – but calm was what they needed. "I'm sorry, but I think you'll have to follow your dad. You have to escape the vault. Listen, maybe it isn't any of my business," Connie felt a sickening lurch in her chest. Of course it was her business. Weren't they friends? "but didn't your dad tell you that he was leaving? Where he was going?"

 _Of course he did! He tells me_ everything, Connie thought sarcastically. No, Amata didn't need to hear the kind of bitterness. Not from her, not now. "No."

"Oh." That one word, 'oh', and the sickening realization that Connie had nowhere to go and no one waiting for her outside. The fact was that Dad had left her there alone. With the crazy Overseer who hated her guts. "It doesn't matter, I can help you escape. I have my own plan!" Amata spoke with the old confidence, that… spark… that made Connie follow her where she would follow no one else. The corners of her mouth quirked up a bit. Even with all this happening, it was somehow calming…

"More of your 'plans', Amata?" Amata shot her a look, but her expression lightened a touch. Maybe.

"Listen, there's a secret tunnel that leads from my father's office to the exit. You'll have to hack the computer to open it. You're good at that." The strained smile made Connie wonder exactly how much Amata knew about her activities the last three years. "Use these to get into his office. That's how I always get in."

She passed Connie a handful of bobby pins. "Here's D- Father's gun. I hope you won't need it, but you'd better take it… just in case."

"So I was a bad influence after all." Connie couldn't help herself, Amata was just asking to be teased, however inappropriate the time. She wrapped Amata's fingers around the gun, enclosing the other girl's hands in her own. "If he opened the door, there could be radroaches. You'll need it more than I do."

She released the hand – not without reluctance - and started stripping the room of any useful items. Her baseball bat was a familiar weight in her hands. She rooted through her dresser for a pack and started shoving the mix of clothing, tools, and the contents of her medicine chest into the bag. She could feel Amata watching

"You should go… I don't want you to get caught." She said without looking up. After a moment's thought. She stuck the baseball, and glove into her pack, along with the crystal and knife she found on that ill-fated adventure so long ago.

There was a long silence. "I'll try to meet you at the door."

The door hissing closed signaled Amata's departure. Connie slipped the BB gun into a jury-rigged holster on her back, a necessity when trying to do repairs in the lower levels and fend off radroaches at the same time. She exited her room and slunk through the living room, keeping a white-knuckled grip on her baseball bat. The hall to her left was cut off, to her right was another branch one direction lead to the diner and atrium.

Officer Kendall was coming from the direction of the diner, a new swagger to his step. Was he enjoying this? A trio of radroaches scuttled single-file out of a burst-open air vent (Connie shuddered at the size of radroach needed to do that.) and tried to swarm up his leg. While his back was turned Connie darted into the girl's restroom across the hall. A low moan from the Mens' bathroom the hall over drew her forward. Paul Hannon Jr. was slumped on a toilet, his clothes ripped and torn, a metal pipe gripped in one hand. The fragmented corpses of radroaches surrounded him.

"You dumbshit."

Paul's eyes drifted open, and the boy started at the sight of his former victim with a bat in one hand.

"No! Stay down." Connie rummaged through her pack, looking for- ah, there it was – radroach antivenom. A necessity included in all maintenance crew kits. Preparing the injection was a familiar process, since her Dad once had ambitions for her to be a doctor like him. It was doomed to fail from the start; her bedside manner was nonexistent. Still, it helped her treat minor injuries, including radroach mauling. She gripped Paul's wrist and jammed the needle into his arm before he could react. He grimaced as the burning sensation made it's way through his veins.

"What the hell was that?" Connie was relived he didn't end the sentence with 'tunnel snakes rule'.

"It'll keep those bites from killing you." She gathered the object back into her bag and walked away before she could change her caught her arm. His earnest eyes caught hers, and Connie felt her face soften at the memory of the stuttering boy in her memories.

"Thanks."

Connie gently pulled her sleeve out of his grip. "I've got escaping to do." She peeked around the corner and saw that Offer Kendall was gone, the radroaches dead. Where was –

"Thank God! Red!" Connie spun and would have brained Butch if he hadn't ducked. "Wait! Wait! I need your help!" His expression was agonized, so far separated from his 'gang leader' persona that Connie would have stared if she'd had the time. "My mom's trapped in our house with radroaches."

 _Ever heard of irony Butch?_ "I'll go take care of it. Paul's in there." She gestured in the direction of the bathroom with her bat. "Go get him."

Connie made short work of the roaches and tucked Butch's sauced mother into bed. Butch dragged Paul into the Deloria living room and and laid him out on the couch, after which Connie wrote out a few instructions on the contents of the infirmary medicine closet. Butch's sniveling thanks were enough to make her sick. She almost missed the old Butch. Still she took the jacket he offered her, seeing that the heavy leather offered at least a bit more protection than her jumpsuit alone. "You three stay here."

Her continued travels down the tunnels lead her past the Diner – she averted her gaze from the corpse being gnawed on by roaches, the scent of piss and blood making her stomach heave. She rushed past Stanley, Gomez and Andy battling even more roaches, but refrained from joining in when Andy broke out the flamethrower.

Stanley caught sight of her. "You go for it little lady! We've got it under control here!" A swing from his crowbar snuffed out another roach.

Guards were posted at the door in the Atrium, Connie saw as she rushed past Tom Holden and his wife. She didn't know what stupid plan they had cooked up, but she doubted running away like a pair of frightened children when the first shots were fired was it. She was almost to the Overseer's office, when she heard the big man's voice echoing from the security room.

"Just cooperate Amata… I don't want to let Officer Mack have what he wants. He'll enjoy it far more than I will."

"Dammit, I already told you I don't know anything! Why won't you ever _listen to me_!" Amata's voice was as tearful as angry.

There was a smashing sound, metal against metal. "Because I know you're lying!" The overseer roared. "You would betray everything for that little bitch, wouldn't you?"

Connie broke into a run, and reached the window in time to see the Overseer reach the peak of his anger.

"Where is she?" He half expected him to be frothing at the mouth, but he looked so calm after his outburst that it was unsettling.

"I told yo-" The sound of a baton on bone cut her off.

Officer Mack left an imprint of his baton across Amata's left cheek. A red haze rushed into Connie's vision. There was no conscious thought, she didn't even remember how she got into the room with Officer Mack laid out on the ground. He was moaning and moaning and clutching his left leg. Still staring at the man writhing at her feet, Connie slowly pieced the moment together. She had dove under his wild swings and cracked him so hard across the leg that she felt the bone shatter under the blow. She snatched up his gun and slipped his baton into her belt. Amata stood quivering, the gun clasped in her hand and distant eyes still trained on the officer.

"Amata." She didn't reply. Connie edged closer, cautiously circling around the line of fire though Amata remained motionless except for that almost imperceptible trembling. She snapped her fingers before Amata's eyes. "AMATA!"

Amata jolted as if shocked, and the eyes that met hers were just a little wild. Connie brushed her fingers delicately over the other girl's cheek and muttered a curse.

"You should go."

Amata's eyes drifted to her father, who was watching them impassively with his arms crossed. Connie forced herself to relax and slipped the 10mm pistol into a free loop on her tool belt. Amata caught the silent implication, and left without a word. Connie watched her go, a sickening feeling in her stomach dousing her anger as she realized that Amata had seen a part of her she'd taken great pains to hide.

"I don't suppose you are here to turn yourself in?" Connie jerked her gaze back to the Overseer, she had almost forgotten he was there. Her lips curled into a cool smile.

"Yeah, right Overseer. That's exactly why I'm here." Every inch of her felt shaky. She could feel her hands trembling at her sides, and it pissed her off that he could see her this way. Knowing what he did to Amata, it was taking sheer force of will not to bash in his smug face. She and Amata both were betrayed by the people they were supposed to trust most."Guess they don't make parents like they used to."

The Overseer flinched. She hadn't meant to say it, but the words clearly hit a mark. The Overseer – that was the only way she could think of him now – met her eyes, with a defiant gaze so familiar on another face. Connie could only hate him,

"Are you going to hurt her?"

"She... she is a traitor to the vault." Connie could almost see the duty strangling him.

"She's also the only one in this shithole who can take over after you." Connie coughed softy. What she was about to do made bile well up in her throat. "It was my fault. I made her tell me how to get out of here... with force and... stuff. Ya know, like a Security baton."

Understanding dawned in the Overseer's eyes. They both knew perfectly well it was a lie, but it was the sort of lie that let him get out of punishing his own daughter. So he seized the chance with both hands. The Overseer's smirk made her blood boil, even though she could see shame there as well. Dear god, she wished Amata would let her kill him. "She won't suffer further for your actions."

"You can wait here." She said over her shoulder as she strode out the door. The automatic door slid shut and she used her bat to smash the control box.

She smelled his body before she found it, the overpowering stench of excrement and blood. He lay sprawled on the floor in front of his desk, papers scattered around him. Jonas' white coat was soaked with blood and other fluids. Connie closed her eyes against the image. As she backed away something on the floor rattled against her foot. A holodisk. She shoved it into her pocket and moved on, because if she stopped she wasn't sure she could start going again. A flash of movement caught her eye through an open door.

Amata was sitting at her kitchen table with her head in her hands, staring at the gun resting between her elbows. She didn't even glance up at Connie hovering in the doorway.

"I think… I think I would have shot him." She whispered in a hollow voice. A livid bruise was forming on her cheek and jaw. Heat welled inside Connie; a fraction less self control and two men would die that night. Amata looked up again, but wouldn't meet Connie's eyes for more than a few seconds. "Dad?"

"He's trapped in that room."

Amata closed her eyes. "Thank you. He wasn't himself, I'm not sure… Thank you."

"Come on." Connie took her shell-shocked friend's hand. I don't want to leave you alone here.

It only took Connie a few moments to pick the lock to the Overseer's office. It was a few more minutes to loot the lockers for ammo, weapons – even a few sets of armor. And the terminal password. 'Amata'. _Stupid asshole._

She managed to get herself and Amata into a set of armor and down the tunnel with minimal fuss. Amata had retreated into herself, trailing after the redhead like a ghost.

Amata drifted after Connie, her thoughts swirling in unrecognizable mass. Amata didn't see what she did, but the door groaned and hissed open. Amata couldn't take her eyes off of it. She never thought she would see this door, much less see it open. "You opened it." She turned to face the older girl, and realized with a shock that Connie was watching her. A thought brushed the back of her mind: Connie's eyes had little flecks of green in them. She had never noticed before.

"Yeah."

Suddenly Amata was caught up in a hug. "I - I'm gonna miss you," Connie whimpered.

Everything came rushing home. Connie was leaving, going out into a world that all the stories said was certain death. This was their last goodbye. _I don't want to let go._ The pang of pain was almost more than she could bear.

"I'll miss you too," Amata managed to choke out, her vision blurring. Amata could hear shouts and pounding feet over the sirens. Connie let go first, and undid something around her neck. A warm, metallic objects settled in Amata's hands, and Connie managed a crooked half-smile.

"…It's gonna have to be early this year." Another quick hug, and Connie backed out the door, gaze trained on Amata alone as the door to their past life creaked and began to move. Connie hadn't asked her to come, wouldn't ask. She knew as well as Amata did that it was her duty to stay. To try and talk some sense into her father, to bring the vault back to order and protect it's inhabitants from the Overseer's wrath. Almost without thinking, Amata opened the locket in her hand, and to her immense surprise, it started to play. The song stopped her thoughts cold.

* * *

_Joe Palmer's beloved jukebox was playing his favorite song as he polished its silver trim to a mirror shine. The box stuttered to a stop mid-song. "Dangit." He grumbled. He scarcely noticed the young child who watched him open up the Juke, he was used to her sudden appearances by now. "Don't need to hover 'round the door like that lil'un - you can come and help, hm?"She did, of course. She'd yet to refuse an invitation._

_Amata Almodovar was supposed to be playing hide and seek with the other Vault children, but she was a six-year-old on a mission. She kept seeing a pale figure out of the corner of her eye, but when she looked, there was nothing. The older kids said it must be a ghost, but Amata wasn't so sure. After about fifteen minutes of searching she had given up and was looking for a hiding place when a furtive movement drew her into the Diner._

_Mr. Palmer was working on his jukebox, and at his side was a little girl about the same age as Amata with a worn, one-eyed bear clutched to her side. The girl watched raptly while Joe explained how a part from the guts of the machine worked. She was paler than anyone Amata had ever seen, with twig-like build and a cloud of fine copper hair. (In later years, it would darken to auburn. As if tarnished, Amata's adult mind would whisper, though she ignored it.) When the girl noticed her, she squeaked and darted behind Joe. One brown eye peeked around the mechanic's bulk. Mr. Palmer chuckled. "Aw, there isn't any reason to be afraid o' her lil'un."_

_Amata's curiosity was piqued. "How come I haven't met you before?"_

_The girl tightened her grip on Mr. Palmer's sleeve and mumbled something. Amata only caught a few words. "…was… sick."_

_She couldn't shake the feeling that she'd met the girl somewhere before. "What's your name?"_

_"Connie," came the tiny voice._

_Amata grinned, bouncing on the balls of her feet. "I'm Amata. Nice to meecha. Wanna go play?"_

_Connie gave the other girl a wary glance, then looked up at Joe Palmer. "She's a nice kid, lil'un. I can finish up here without your help, just this once."_

_With that, Connie nodded vigorously._

_"Well com'mon then!" Amata grabbed her new friend's hand and lead her away, chattering about the fun things they were going to do together._

_Joe Palmer cast a wry glance at the little bear that leaned forlorn against the jukebox. "Guess it's just you and me now buddy."_

_Without stopping to explain every step the work went much faster. Before long the old juke was piping out music again - his favorite song, in fact. He hummed along under his breath as he returned to polishing the worn chrome._

_"I don't want to set the world on fire..."_

* * *

Schpink! Schpink! Schpink!

The gunshots ricocheting against stone and metal brought her back to reality with frightening clarity. She looked out the door and realized that Connie hadn't left. She was just standing jerked, struck once in her left leg, again on her right arm. For a split second she remained unchanged. Then she crumpled to the ground. "Connie!" The scream cut through the air like nails on a chalk board.

The door slammed shut; Vault 101 was sealed once more. Minus two former residents.

* * *

There's a whole lot of singing  
That's never gonna be heard  
Disappearing every day  
Without so much as a word, somehow

Think I broke the wings off that little songbird  
She's never gonna fly to the top of the world

\- Top of the World, Dixie Chicks

* * *

AN: Thanks to everyone who reviewed and faved. You guys really keep my spirits up in the awful abyss that is writers block, you know? ^^


	3. Gunshy

The door was closed. The end of the beginning. Amata knelt down to check her friend's pulse, and released a breath she hadn't realized she was holding. Connie's heart was strong against her fingers. She wasn't sure what she would do if Connie died; there would be no point without her. The wound (one on her upper arm, Amata hadn't worked up the nerve to check the one on Connie's thigh yet) actually wasn't that bad, thanks to the guards' crappy aim. But he damage was not nearly as bad as she'd suspected. They were more large welts with craters in the center, though she could see a monster of a bruise blooming to cover the arm from shoulder to elbow.

Connie opened her eyes, caught sight of Amata hovering over her, and a half-sheepish, half-mischievous smile twitched to life. "Déjà vu." She pushed herself up to her elbows, hissing when she moved her arm. "Why're you out here?" The redhead's voice had taken on an edge that Amata couldn't quite place.

It pissed her off a little; it's not like there was anyone else willing to follow. "You were shot!"

Connie raked a hand through her hair, shame flickering across her features. "Those were rubber bullets… they probably won't kill me. I fainted."

"You… fainted." Amata felt a huge weight lift off her chest and burst out laughing. Her jaw and chest ached, but she just couldn't stop.

"You would too." Connie sulked, which only made her laugh harder, only the very real hurt in Connie's eyes made Amata suppress the dawning hysteria.

Amata scrubbed her eyes with the back of her hand. "I'm sorry. I didn't know how I was going to take care of you out there. It's such a relief…"

Connie sighed, and started digging through her medical kit again. She pulled out a few rolls of gauze and some salve. "You're still stuck out here with me. You should've stayed inside."

Amata took the opportunity to scan the cave. _It must be to conceal the exit._ The walls, floor, and ceiling were rough hewed stone, the ground was scattered with bits of wood and _bone_. A spread-eagled skeleton still clutched a faded sign that screamed 'We're dying out here, assholes!'.

"Um… don't turn around." Connie's voice accompanied the sound of a zipper.

Amata tried to ignore the heat that rushed to her cheeks. _Surely she isn't…_ Her thoughts skittered off in another direction. People died out here, which was clear enough. Was she willing to walk away from her responsibilities into an unknown that would probably snuff her out like a radroach? She hadn't had time to think, not really. A knot of guilt in her heart told her she should have stayed behind; It was her job to help and protect the people of the vault. Something her father had clearly forgotten. When the door started to move… she realized that duty might not be enough. She didn't want to become her father, trapped by his role as leader and unable to live his life. Not that she thought it in so many words, but the emotion was there.

Maybe it was selfish – no, it _was_ selfish – she wouldn't lie to herself about that. After a few moments her friend slipped into her field of vision, but she didn't escape her whirling thoughts until she felt a gentle hand on her jaw. Connie worked some of the salve into Amata's bruised face; tenderness and anger warred in her expression. Amata didn't want to be reminded why, hoped someday she would be able to forget. She almost did, with that soft touch trailing over her cheek. Abruptly, Connie pulled her hand away and returned the medical supplies to her bag. Connie silently pulled Amata to her feet and they turned to face the door that marked the end of the world they knew; she traced the 101 etched in the metal.

"I could find a way to get you back in, you know. We could make something up."

"We could," Amata took Connie's callused hand. "but we're not." _You're my best friend, but dammit, I wish you'd quit babying me._ Connie bent to grab her pack, but it whipped from under her hand. She looked up at Amata with that wide-eyed, bewildered expression, the one that made Amata want to tease her.

"Don't give me that look. There's no way you're carrying this with a limp like that." Her left foot was only just touching the ground in an attempt to look normal, but Amata caught the way her weight shifted as she turned. Honestly, she didn't understand Connie sometimes. "Let's go."

* * *

Alphonse Almodovar sat on his daughter's bed, a faded photograph cradled in his hands like a fragile bird. His tired eyes scanned the room, picking apart every detail as if the answers were in the rope rug under his feet.

The room was brighter since the day young Connie observed that it needed some color. There was a bright red quilt folded at the foot of the bed, and arranged beside the pillow was a small, one-eyed bear with a red ribbon around its neck. The dresser against the opposite wall was worn grey in places, delicately painted constellations all but unrecognizable. A storage chest with flaking sunshine-yellow paint was jammed up to the foot of the bed to make the most of the remaining space.

On the dresser was part of the answer: a eight flowers filled a jar, ranging from delicate creations of paper to curlicues of metal, the smallest and most wrinkled placed front and center.

He turned his attention back to the photograph in his hand. A much younger Alphonse gingerly held a tiny bundle next to his smiling wife. He was convinced her would never again meet someone so full of love as Evelyn Almodovar. She soothed pain and offered comfort with a smile, regardless of rank or worth. Not the lowliest garbage burner was below her notice, and the vault dwellers returned her heartfelt kindness with devotion they never spared for him. Anyone would fall in love with her, and only God knew why she'd chosen him. He remembered with heartbreaking clarity the day he lost her and even more sharply, the cause.

_A shaggy-haired young man in leather armor and the tattered remains of a lab coat stood in front of Vault 101. His precious cargo cradled in his arms, he glanced at the soldier at his back before returning his gaze to the Overseer. "Please, let us in. I… I'm a doctor. A scientist. My skills could be useful to you…"_

_The Overseer's eyes narrowed as he weighed the options. This man was from the wastes, he could be carrying diseases; He could be a thief using a child for pity. He could – His wife's hand smoothed his arm._

_She leaned over his shoulder and pecked him on the cheek, giving him her most angelic smile. "Why don't you let them in, dear? It's just one man and a child. They won't hurt anything." Alphonse took another good look at the pitiful man, and looked again at his wife. He sighed, and an indulgent smile worked its way onto his face at her pleading expression._ Damn. _He never could say no to her._

If only he had known what was coming. Decades of pain and loss - the slow death of his vault - erased in an instant if he'd said no.

_The young man was wild-eyed beside his only child. The toddler tossed and turned, muttering fragments of words. He tried everything, and still the fever would not break. He didn't seem to notice the woman at his side. "Why don't you take a rest, James? I'll keep an eye on her."_

_Alphonse didn't agree with Evelyn's conviction that it was her duty to watch over every sick child and straying lamb, but she wouldn't be moved. He lead the distraught doctor out of the room as his wife took her place at the brat's side._

_"I should have seen the signs," James muttered into his hands._

Evelyn died of the same strange disease only a few months later, along with roughly half of the vault's residents. He was left a widower, Amata without a mother, and he hated James and his child with unreasoning passion. If he'd never let them in, if he'd turned them away, if he'd said _no_! The cruelest phrase ever uttered by man, he discovered: "If only."

James wisely kept his child away from the Overseer, and even the other vault dwellers in the days that followed. Not difficult, since the brat was sickly to begin with, and the illness took a heavy toll. Amata was the spitting image of her mother in so many ways. It shouldn't have surprised him when he came upon her playing with that pallid creature. Like her mother, she couldn't resist her little pet projects – or that was how he chose to see it at the time. It was easy to see the Ward child as less than human in those days. She hardly spoke, hid at the slightest provocation, and crept about the edges of rooms like a disgusting little rat. Today he was forced to question himself.

" _Are you going to hurt her?" The Ward brat's eyes bored into his._

When had hatred of the father become loathing for the child? The kid could have begged for mercy or even killed him, but her concern was for _his daughter,_ and rightly so. The shame was an iron band around his lungs. His only daughter - his little girl - and he let that bastard hurt her. No, it was worse than that; he _ordered it done._ He opened his eyes at clunking boots entering the room, and the expression on the guard's face told him the answer before the young man spoke.

"I'm sorry, sir. We've looked everywhere. Your daughter… we can't find her anywhere in the vault."

Alphonse closed his eyes again. So this was his punishment?

* * *

"My God."

 _God has nothing to do with this_ , Connie thought. She shaded her eyes with one hand, blocking out the sun's blistering glare. A bent sign read: scenic outlook. The landscape was a cracked, grey wasteland, dotted with the twisted hands of trees and massive piles of boulders like the bones of the earth exposed and scattered by some cataclysmic event. Corroded, warped skeletons of buildings dotted the landscape, still and lifeless as tombstones. Silence was absolute ruler, gave the illusion that if she shouted her voice would simply die away under its weight. A hot wind sent up a swirling cloud of dust and ash.

"Ready to go back to the vault now?" Connie murmured, mouth dry. There was so much _space_! After a lifetime in the clearly defined confines of the vault, the sheer size of the world was terrifying. Her hand tightened on Amata's. _Please don't leave me._ Connie was immediately ashamed by the thought; it would be better, safer for Amata if she left right now.

"You're trying to get rid of me already? And leave all the adventure to you? Not on your life." Amata's hand tightened to a death grip, but she didn't waver.

Connie noticed a strip of earth more packed than the rest, fading from long disuse, but still there. _How… curious._ She followed it as it wound down the slope and through a cleft in the cliff, and came to an abrupt stop. To the southeast a strange arrangement of metal peeked over a mound of debris. "Let's go that way."

Amata merely nodded, her expression still closed. The black and purple blooming on her face made angry heat relight in Connie's chest, so she turned away and hurried down the path. It wound around mounds of rock and splintered trees, past a rusting water tower and to the foot of what appeared to be no more than a mound of scrap metal.

"Welcome to Megaton. The bomb is perfectly safe, we promise. Please hold for threat level assessment." The speaker was a awkward, bulky metal humanoid with a glass dome set directly on its shoulders. A red light flickered over both women. _"_ Threat level minimal. Open the gates. Open the gates. Welcome to Megaton."

What was that thing? Connie didn't have time to ponder further, she jumped back when part of the heap started to creak and hiss. It unfolded with groan to reveal yet another gate. Connie looked at Amata, who gave her a small smile. "I guess this means we go in, huh?"

Connie nodded and stumbled forward (damn unsteady feet) to push open the gate. She stepped through and gaped at the sight. They stood in a bowl of corroding metal, its walls criss-crossed chains, weld marks and pipes. The houses spread out in layers and piles, spilling from the walls to the ground and connecting to each other with catwalks and dirt paths. It was like the nest of some demented spider. Further down the path there was a town square of sorts with a pool of water in the center, and in the center of that…

"An Atomic bomb." Connie whispered, stunned.

"That's right, the Children of Atom helped found Megaton." A tall black man with a long, dusy leather coat and a battered cowboy hat strode up the hill. His broad features broke out into a wary smile, almost hidden under his thick beard. "Welcome to Megaton. Name's Lucas Simms, sheriff - and Mayor now and then. You folks gonna be staying around for long?" The girls shook his offered hand, and Connie decided she liked the man with the firm handshake. She exchanged glances with Amata. After seeing that Connie wasn't planning on saying anything, Amata spoke.

"I'm Amata, and this is Connie."

Here Connie nodded shortly, knowing she'd be stumbling over her words like an idiot if she tried to say more. "Sir."

"It's a pleasure to meet you." Amata continued. It really was, Connie reflected. Aside from Amata, his was the first friendly face she'd seen all day. "I… I really can't say how long we'll be staying."

"Well that's fine by me. You seem like nice people, and polite too. Feel free to stay as long as you like. Just don't start causing any trouble, you hear?"

"Yessir." Connie noticed the man's eyes wandering over to her when she replied, and she felt some of her old anxiety come sneaking back. Had she done something wrong?

"Doc Church's place is down by the crater, if you're needing some help." He cast a pointed look at Connie's blood splattered Security Armor. Connie couldn't contain herself at the mention of the bombs resting place.

"W-why is there a bomb here?"

If he was surprised by the question he didn't show it. "The Children of Atom helped found Megaton. Crazy bastards worship the damn thing. Said we had to build the town around the bomb, or we wouldn't get any help. 'sides, most don't seem to realize it's still a threat."

"D'you think I could… take a look at it?" She had the chance to look at the insides of a real atom bomb! …And save the townspeople. Of course.

"Are you sure you can disarm it? One wrong cut wire and we're all radioactive dust. This isn't Mr. Palmer's jukebox we're talking about." Amata's words brought Connie back from mechanic's dreamland. Both Sheriff Simms and Amata were giving her wary looks.

"You think I'd go digging around without looking first?" Didn't Amata know her at all? She was a bit reckless at times, but that didn't mean she'd risk lives just to get a look at the inside of a bomb!

"Well, if you think you could do it, it's worth caps to me to get that piece of crap disarmed."

"Caps?"

"You know, payment. Caps." Simms held out a bottlecap in the palm of his hand. He pushed his hat back to give them a better view of his suspicious face. "Were did you say you folks were from again?"

There it was. Connie wasn't sure how to explain, or even if she wanted to. After all, who knew how these wastelanders felt about Vault Dwellers?

"We just came out of the vault. Sorry, we don't know much." Amata's voice was sheepish. Sometimes Connie wished Amata was more suspicious. "Oh, have you seen a man coming through here? Middle aged, graying hair, maybe wearing a jumpsuit and lab coat? We're looking for him." Connie felt a faint flash of anger. When had she said she wanted to go looking for that… man? She crushed it best she could; Amata was only trying to help.

"I think I saw a man like that come through town a while back. Had that look in his eye, you know? The kind a man gets when he's got a purpose." The Sheriff chuckled. "Not too often you see looks like that nowdays. Spent some time up at the Saloon. Might want to check with Moriarity. Just watch yourself, the man's trouble."

"Thank you, Mr. Simms. We'll let you go on your way now." Connie started off down the path, surprised at the rush of optimism that came with having a job to do. That is, until she felt something catch her by the collar of her shirt. She turned to meet Amata wearing an impish smile. "Ah, Ah, Ah. _You_ aren't going _anywhere_ until we visit Doc Church." Connie made a show of sighing, but a warm glow filled her chest. Their three years apart, plus her father's preoccupation with his mysterious "experiments"left her unused to people worrying about her. She usually just patched herself up and went back to work.

"Alright."

* * *

Amata was half-amused half-horrified by Doc Church.

 _You'd better be draggin' yourself to my doorstep dying before you bother me again._ Connie had always said she wasn't cut out for medical work because of her 'bedside manner', but the girl was practically a socialite compared to the white-haired man that treated her. A glance to her left revealed that Connie was walking without much trouble now, after a couple of stitches and a shot of Med-X. Her friend was unusually quiet since they arrived in Megaton, but Amata chalked it up to nervousness. They were just outside a building made of sheets of metal held together by odds and ends. A huge sign overhead notified all passerby that it was Moriarty's Saloon. Connie pushed the open the door to reveal a spacious (if not exactly clean) room taken up by a long L-shaped bar lined with barstools.

A redhead hunched in the shadow of the stairs, her gravelly voice - the cause probably the fact she was smoking like a chimney - drifting through the door. "I told ya Gob, it ain't the radio! The Enclave station comes in fine; It's Galaxy news. Their signal's been shit lately."

Behind it was a – Amata suppressed shriek with hands clapped to her mouth. What the hell was that thing? Connie walked up to the bar and tilted her head a bit the way she did when faced with a particularly complicated machine. "Excuse me sir… what are you?"

The man – if indeed it was a man – paused in banging on the radio.

"What, you ain't never seen a ghoul before?" His voice sounded like he had been gargling rocks.

"Nope." Amata felt like hitting Connie upside the head. Sometimes she was an idiot.

The ghoul leaned on the counter and gave her a long look. When he spoke again, it was with barely restrained bitterness. "Well, not all of us got to hole up in a nice cushy vault when the bombs fell. A bunch of us got stuck out in the world, and got a full on blast of heat and radiation – turned us into a pack of walking corpses. Near as I can tell, we age slower than you. A lot slower. There are even a few ghouls that were alive before the war. Of course, with a face like ground Brahmin meat, you can imagine that folks don't take too kindly to us."

Amata felt sorry for him, and not just because he looked like a slab of raw meat. How lonely must it be, to watch generations of people pass away as you stayed the same?

"It's not so bad." Connie's voice had gone small. She shifted from foot-to-foot like a nervous child. Sometimes she was an idiot… and sometimes she was like this.

The man may have been surprised; it was hard to tell with his unusual face. "Nice of you to say so. If you can't be nice, at least pretend, right? Still, it's better than the usual spit in the face I get. You're not half-bad… for a smoothskin."

Amata expected Connie to leave it at there, she wasn't the sort that did 'sensitive chats' if she could help it. Instead she shrugged, "I don't pretend. It was nice meeting you, Mister." She retreated to the other side of the bar, where a man on a starched suit lounged in a corner. Amata sighed, and glanced at the ghoul. He was staring after Connie with an odd set to his shoulders.

"I'm sorry, Mr…"

"Gob."

"Mr. Gob. Sorry about that. She's not very good with people." Her laugh sounded uneasy even to her. "If it makes you feel any better, she's like that with everyone." _Well,_ almost _everyone…_ She chose to ignore the thought. She was getting pretty good at that lately.

Gob had returned to wiping down the counter, rubbing futilely at cigarette burns and water stains. "Really, now?"

"Yeah, she's a horrible liar."

"Hm. Well, you two are always welcome to stop by. Don't get a lot of friendly faces around here."

"You're pretty nice yourself. Now if you'll excuse me… I've got to go find my 'social butterfly' before she finds trouble." Amata found Connie seated alone in the corner, holding a strange metal object in trembling hands.

Without pramble, she stated "Just agreed to blow up Megaton." She looked up at Amata with a stricken expression. "Why… why would someone want to do that?"

"I don't know." Amata was shaken. Connie just agreed to do _what_? "Let's find Sheriff Simms."

* * *

The sheriff took the news about how you would expect. "So let me get this straight. This Mister Burke offered you a crapload of caps if you would rig the bomb to blow up Megaton? And this," He hefted the metal piece in his large hand. "is the detonator?"

"Yes."

The big man's face tightened. "You're about to get an education in Wasteland justice. Follow me!" He drew his gun and rushed around the catwalk to Moriority's saloon. Connie raced after him, and Amata stumbled trying to keep up. The ominous creaking from the walkways set her heart racing. She sure hoped they were sturdier than they looked. She came into the Saloon just in time to see the confrontation. A man was sitting in the chair she'd found Connie in earlier. He was dressed in a sharp silver suit, sunglasses and a brown felt fedora and seemed unmoved by Sheriff Simms threatening stance.

"I'm afraid there's been a…heh, heh… misunderstanding. Surely someone has been spreading… rumors." His voice was slimy, the sort that brought to mind things that lived under rocks. "I'll be sure to… address the situation." Judging by his expression, 'addressing the situation' wasn't anywhere near as benign as it sounded.

The Sheriff drew himself up to his full height. "I'm placin' you under arrest Burke – At least until I figure out what the hell's going on 'round here."

"I'm afraid I won't be able to oblige your request Sheriff. I have pressing matters to attend to… now, step aside." Burke rested his elbows on his knees and propped his chin on his folded hands, an glint in his eyes that made Amata shiver.

"This isn't up for discussion – you're coming with me."

"Very well sheriff… lead the way." Amata almost relaxed, then felt alarm bells started going off when she saw him reach into his jacket. He pulled out a 10mm pistol and aimed it at the Sheriff's back…

_Thwock!_

Burke dropped to the ground like a stone, Connie standing over him with an impassive expression and a bottle clutched in her fist. The sheriff looked down at the man, who had the gun still locked in his grip, and chuckled. "I think I must be gettin' old."

* * *

"Can I go look at the bomb _now_?" Amata blinked. Connie sounded for all the world like a kid pleading with her mom.

"Um… yeah. Go ahead." Amata sighed, and followed at a more tranquil pace.

Had she really woken up this morning in the vault? Connie… that change from brutal fighter to playful teen… it was so sudden it scared her. She hadn't said a word when the Sheriff thanked her for her help, or as Burke was dragged off to who-knows-where. When she finally reached the crater Connie had already pried a panel off the bomb and started rooting around in the tangles of wire. Amata waited as minutes ticked by, somehow reluctant to leave her friend alone. She was half-afraid that if she looked away for too long Connie would disappear, and she would be left to wander these wastes alone.

"Got it!" Connie screwed the panel back into place and stuck the screwdriver in her pocket. She grinned at Amata.

Amata sighed. _So she's managed not to kill us all._ "Let's go tell him, then."

They found the sheriff sitting on a barstool in front of a rickety stall belonging to a shack with a sign proudly proclaiming it to be 'The Brass Lantern'. He was gnawing on a greasy red something skewered on a stick, which gave off a savory scent that reminded Amata she hadn't eaten since yesterday. Connie plunked a hunk of metal (for which Amata could only guess the purpose) on the counter. "The bomb is disarmed."

The sheriff turned the part over in one oily hand. "Seems genuine. Alright, here's your caps: a hundred all told." He tossed a small sack, and Amata caught it. He then extended his hand, tangling a small key from a chain. "And here's the rest of your reward. It's the key to Burkes' house. The bastard won't be needing it anymore."

"Thank you." That was all Amata could get out. This was an amazing piece of luck. He pointed the house out to the girls – a two story number right next to the town gates. Amata had to practically drag her friend into the house, Connie seemed intent on exploring the whole waste in one day.

The first floor was largely just open space, with some lockers on the opposite wall, a long, low bookshelf against the side of the staircase, and sink and fridge in an small alcove behind the stairs. Directly at the top of the stairs was an empty 'room' (more like a closet) with a chair and a table in it, and to the left of that a marginally larger room with a dilapidated desk, filing cabinet, and bed crammed in. A rickety catwalk to the left lead to what Amata could only describe as a shelf, which had a worktable wedged into the far end.

Amata heard several loud thunks and turned to see that Connie had removed her armor, leaving her only in her Vault 101 Jumpsuit. She plopped down on the mattress and crossed her arms behind her head. One leg dangled over the edge of the bed swinging back and forth lazily. "Man, I'm -" A jaw-popping yawn cut off her sentence. "tired."

Amata bent to pick up the armor and put it in a neat pile on the desk. It offended her sense of order to leave it laying around on the floor.

"You should probably try to stay awake until we get something to eat…" Connie was already asleep. Amata had noticed the dark circles under her eyes. Rumor was that the maintenance crew was overworked, but now she suspected that it might be worse than she thought. (That was the kind of thing she could fix if she were overseer. She suppressed the sudden surge of guilt.)

Instead she settled on the edge of the bed and smoothed the other girl's hair, a faint smile forming on her lips. "What am I going to do with you?"

* * *

Day one, day one, start over again  
Step one, step one, with not much making sense just yet  
For now I'm faking it 'til I'm pseudo making it  
From scratch begin again but this time I as "I" and not as "We"

\- Not As We, Alanis Morisette


	4. Looking For a Road I Know

Amata woke up was feeling warmer than usual. (Her father had this annoying habit of turning the heating unit as low as humanly survivable.) There was a tickling sensation on her collarbone. When she opened her eyes she probably started giving off heat waves.

Connie was pressed up close to her, and somehow had worked her head under Amata's chin. That wasn't what mortified her though - they'd slept together often enough as children, and Connie (despite how she might behave when awake) had a habit of cuddling in her sleep. No, it was the fact that one of her own legs had ended up draped over both of Connie's. That, and every time she almost came up with a plan to get away, another soft breath against her neck whisked it out of her mind. Eventually she managed to ease her leg out of its embarrassing position, but Connie tightened her arm around her waist (when did that get there?) when she tried to escape. Finally she resorted to the direct method and shook her friends shoulder. "Connie… Connie, it's time to wake up."

Connie made a small sound of protest and buried her face further into Amata's neck. The vibration of her voice did interesting things to Amata's heart. "I don' wanna."

"Not even for breakfast?"

One eye peered up at Amata, and appeared to think about it for several moments. Connie was much slower in the morning, Amata mused. Then, Connie flung herself back so fast that her shoulders his the ground with a solid thump. The redhead peeked over the edge of the bed, her blush visible to the tips of her ears. "Umm… breakfast sounds good."

* * *

After the obligatory awkwardness, the girls set out for The Brass Lantern, which Simms assured them was the best place to buy food. Less than five minutes later they were eating ground meat patties, though the woman at the counter suggested they not ask the ingrediants. Or rather, Connie was eating hers, and Amata was choking it down with sheer willpower. Amata shot Connie a look, the girl smiled. "You ever had Freddie's cooking? Nothing worse than that."

"Well, if it isn't the strays from the Vault! You're just popping out of the ground like molerats lately aren't you?" Connie nearly jumped six feet in the air. A woman with henna red hair and grey eyes was perched on the stool next to her; one she swore was empty five seconds ago. She had a very pleasant expression, with eyes turned dreamily inward, but Connie detected an intelligent glint in their depths. Her jumpsuit didn't have a number on it, but she wore it in the way characteristic of mechanics – neck open, covered in grime, and almost worn through at the knees. Connie's was worn in about the same places, though she had never done anything that gave her suit such big scorch marks.

"I've been hoping to run into you two! How would you feel about doing a little job for me?"

Connie didn't quite trust the woman. She seemed nice, but something told her appearances didn't mean much out here. "What kind of job?"

Suddenly the woman seemed more animated, moving her hands about to illustrate her point. "I want to help the people like you. People that come out of the vaults, I mean. You don't know much about surviving out here do you? Wouldn't it be nice if there was a quick way to explain all the dangerous stuff in the wasteland? So I thought 'Well, Moira, why don't you write a book about it?' That's where you come in." Now she looked at the girls, and added in a wheedling tone. "If you help me, I can give you some of the goodies the traders bring me."

Connie glanced at Amata. The overseer's daughter didn't protest, but the look in her eyes when she nodded was oddly… guilty. "Okay." Connie replied at length. "What do you want us to do?"

"Well, I think the first chapter should be on surviving day-to-day dangers. You know, like where to find food, the effects of radiation and how to avoid and even profit from dangerous landmines. Sounds like fun, doesn't it!"

Here, Connie found herself wondering if the woman was being sarcastic. She'd ask Amata what she thought later.

"Which do you want to try first?" The other mechanic prompted with a grin.

"What do you th -" Another glance for confirmation revealed Amata was giving Connie a long, hard look.

"…What?"

* * *

Connie and Moira (as they now knew her name was) were having an animated debate about the best way to repair some leaking pipes around the town. Amata had insisted they remain in Megaton for at least another few days before trying _anything_ Moira suggested. In that time Connie had formed … well, not exactly a friendship, but a working relationship with Moira. Amata sighed. Most of the townspeople were friendly enough – to her, at least, but they didn't seem to know what to make of Connie. _She_ didn't know what to make of Connie. Even after what she labeled 'the incident', neither of them had really made an effort to secure another bed. She'd woken up in a hopeless tangle with her best friend and it had nearly driven her crazy, but of course, such thoughts and… emotions were carefully avoided.

"Worrying about your girl again, sweetie?"

Amata turned around on her stool, to meet the amused gaze of her new friend, Jenny Stahl. She was sturdy woman with blue eyes, blonde hair, and a quick smile. Constantly bustling around her pride and joy, The Brass Lantern, but a good conversationalist if you cared to stick around. She wasn't sure if she understood the amused expression in the older woman's eyes. Unbeknownst to her, the excessive affection between her and Connie was a matter of course in the Vault, where everyone was used to it (as much as Connie tried to hide it) but out in the Wasteland, their close relationship took on different implications. Jenny caught Amata's guilty expression. "

Sweet Jesus, girl! You're the biggest mother hen I ever met!"

 _If you knew how she manages to attract trouble…_ Speaking of which, the mechanic was now crouched next to a young girl. The little girl's dark, chin length hair was pulled back with a red headband, a thin strip of leather held up an oversized pair of dusty jeans. A black shirt and red-and-white jacket completed the ensemble. Connie listened to what the girl had to say – at this distance she couldn't quite make out what they were saying - then nodded seriously. She shook hands with the young girl equally solemnly, before her face broke into a shy, playful smile that made Amata's heart skip a beat. That expression was so nostalgic it made her throat tighten. Connie reached into her pocket and held up something that gleamed in the light.

Billy Creel strode out of Doc's office with a storm brewing in his eyes. Amata made to get up as he approached Connie, but Jenny's hand stopped her.

"Billy's overprotective, but he's no hothead." She replied to Amata's anxious look. "You can't keep speaking for her, Sweets, she's got to make her own place 'round here, ya know?"

* * *

Connie watched Amata check her Pipboy for the tenth time, and adjusted her dark-tinted goggles before checking her own. "Not much longer until we get there."

The two women had undergone a complete overhaul of their inventory. Amata wore a set of combat armor with her hair tucked into a matching helmet, bought at a sizeable discount form Moira. Considering the sweat beading on her face, it was probably quite hot. On the other hand, Connie wore a 101 jumpsuit which had shoulder and kneepads, and patches of metal and leather covering vital places. The extra weight was uncomfortable, fabric and dust clung irritatingly to the moisture on her skin. The Tunnel Snake jacket swamped her scrawny frame, but (though she'd never admit it to anyone) she'd always had a taste for leather. She hefted the unfamiliar weight of the 10mm SMG. According to the Pipboy, they were within a mile of the Super Duper Mart. She sure hoped so – her feet were starting to get sore.

The scenery was boulder-strewn, and in the distance she could see a cluster of buildings, but other than that the landscape was grey, bland, and featureless. Connie's surroundings had never seemed so immediate, so sharp. Their boots sent up little clouds of dust. The scuff of Amata's feet, a distant scuttling sound, the faint whir of wings… voices made her hand dart out and grab Amata's shoulder. Honestly, the woman would notice if you so much as twitched an eyebrow and know exactly what you were thinking. Notice the voices drifting over the next rise? Never.

Thunk. "What, you gonna cry, lil baby?" _Thwap_. " Do we needta go easy on ya?" A voice sneered.

"Common boy-o, cry for us." _Crlunk_. "Does it hurt?"

Connie crept forward in a crouch, and peered around a fragment of concrete. About three yards away a group of four raiders armed with bats surrounded a young man. The raiders were clad in the tattered remains of armor, some adorned with spikes, skulls, or… severed human hands. The boy was all spindly arms and legs; his sapphire hair was in a shaggy haircut that all but obscured his eyes. He wore nothing but a long overshirt, some shorts, and a grim expression. He didn't make a sound as a bat descended on his shoulder, but flinched away as another rushed toward his face.

"Don't you move, coward!" One roared, whipping his bat across the back of the boy's legs. Connie watched as the boy fell to his knees, attempted to stand again, but was slammed down by a crushing blow. Which would be better? With the element of surprise, they might be able to take all of them out, but…

 _Shcrack!_ One of the raiders shouted when a rock cracked him upside the head. Amata stood frozen with another rock clutched in her hand; four raiders rushed them, bats upraised. Amata stumbled backwards and tripped over a rock. The woman with a cracked yellow smile and severed hands dangling from her belt stood over her, smirking, bat upraised. Connie was gone again. She dashed out with her bat gripped in her left and and the SMG in her right. Connie smashed her bat across the woman's face, then the SMG shattered her lower jaw and throat. She didn't pause a beat, stepped over the twitching corpse and sent another hail of bullets into the next man as his makeshift club collided with her ribs. She felt the dull thud all the way up to her skull. He managed to swing again, catching her left forearm before she shattered his skull with the bat. The last two dropped like a stones with only one shot each.

* * *

Amata's gaze shifting between Connie, the slaughtered raiders, and the boy curled into a fetal position on the ground. Amata's gun clattered to the ground. It took sheer willpower to go talk to the boy instead of just curling into a ball alongside him. She touched his arm – and flung herself back before his fist connected with her jaw. The boy backed up against a crumbling concrete wall, a feral snarl curling his lips.

"Hey, it's all right." She smiled in a way she hoped was reassuring. "We're not going to hurt you… What's your name?"

His sharp green eyes drifted towards the fallen raiders. "Like you didn't hurt them?" He couldn't be more than thirteen or so. Amata flinched, and a faint intake of breath behind her told her Connie had seen. Amata had literally thrown the first stone, the sight of that boy suffering, and knowing that they could do something about it – seeing Connie _not moving_ with that calculating look in her eye… Had Connie always been this brutal?

"No, we won't hurt you. I promise."

The boy stood, but kept his distance, crossed his arms and leaned against the wall with exaggerated carelessness. "Name's Cricket. Mind if I ask what the hell you're doin'?"

"Saving your ass." Connie's voice came from behind her, but Amata didn't turn to look. Somehow she was afraid that the outside would reflect the changes she saw inside. If they were changes at all (this scared her more than the first option.)

"Why do they call you that?" Amata asked quickly, hoping Connie's tone wouldn't strike a nerve in this strange boy.

The boy grinned and flicked out a gleaming sliver of metal. A glint of light revealed 'Cricket Brand Harmonica' etched into the instrument. "'Cause I play this." He started searching the carcass' pockets with disquieting efficiency. Amata noticed the disturbed look on Connie's face, and let out a mental sigh of relief – not so changed, then.

"…You can come with us."

His eyes snapped up, narrowed with suspicion. "What game're you playing?"

Connie shrugged, meeting the boy's eyes with an equally guarded expression. "Better than being alone." Something passed between them that Amata didn't understand, but the boy relaxed. He looked away and scratched the back of his dirt-streaked neck.

"Yeah, yeah, whatever. Jus' let me finish up here." He grumbled. Within a less than thirty minutes, the boy had suited himself up in some oversized leather armor stripped from one of his attackers and armed himself with a bat. He propped the bat on one shoulder. "Where to, boss?" He drawled with an impudent expression.

* * *

At the moment, she was in a shitty mood. She ached in places she didn't even know she had. Sixteen-year-old Cricket glanced at her… rescuers? The redheaded woman who called herself Connie – she knew what was going on; that she was trying to join the raiders, and she'd made a good point. _Better than being alone._ One set of crazy bastards was as bad as another. Now she was just confused. Why hadn't Connie just killed her? She darted a look at the dark haired woman who walked a pace or two ahead.

And what was with the chick with the rock? She kept being really… _nice_ , and it was creeping Cricket out. There had to be an ulterior motive; what kind of person gave a complete stranger a bottle of purified water anyway? Maybe they were leading her into a trap – planning to sell her to some slavers or some shit like that. A surge of hatred made her crush her misgivings. They were going to the Super Duper Mart, and even the off chance they would deliver was more than enough to make her follow them. Revenge, she discovered, was a wonderful motivator.

They drew closer to the store, which was framed by crumbling buildings and, in the distance, the few standing pillars of a huge bridge. The concrete out front was shattered, strewn with dented shopping carts and the deteriorated remains of a car. Dismembered corpses dangled from meat hooks attached to the awning, clouding the air with buzzing insects and the sickeningly sweet scent of decay.

Connie squared her shoulders and lifted her chin. "Well, let's go in."

"Are you sure? This… This doesn't look right. I think we should be more careful." Amata whispered, shifting her pistol from hand to hand.

Cricket snorted, those jackasses, dangerous? "Tch, they'll be conked out on booze and drugs, probably asleep. Only idiots travel far during noonday." _Like a pair of vaulties._ "…but if you're really worried, we'll take the back door. " It took them a few minutes to skirt around the building, where they came upon a sturdy metal door. She paused for a moment before she opened the door, savoring the hatred that was liquid fire in her veins.

* * *

The door opened into a cluttered back room, crowded with jumbled together shelves, weapons, and other junk. Cricket crept up to the door and peeked through the window into the grimy pharmacy. A faint smirk played on his lips. Amata inched forward to take a look. A swarthy older woman with green dreadlocks, tattered leather armor and a nail-studded board slumped against the counter, cupping a smoking object in her hands. Judging by her red eyes, she was strung out on something. Amata held her breath.

Cricket pushed open the door and strode directly up to the woman, a cocky smile playing on his lips. "Night night, sugar." A flash of silver, followed by a brief struggle, and the woman lay writhing on the ground, her life draining from a second red smile. The girl stepped over the body without pausing and jumped to counter to drive her knife into the back of a shadowy form – just as another came through the door, guns blazing. Connie shoved Amata to the floor, then returned fire. Two bodies dropped.

Conne dove over the counter, following Cricket. Amata rushed through the door and slammed into a man as he charged around a corner. His head contacted the wall with a sickening crack, but Amata didn't stop. Cricket was grappling with another woman, a massive man in leathers sneaking up behind. Amata squeezed off a shot, the man howled and grasped his ear. Cricket whirled and drove his knife up the man's throat, he jerked and went still. Suddenly all was quiet, the whirl of motion stilled. Amata's breath came in short pants.

"N-n-no, please. Don't kill me." Amata spun.

A spindly man crawled backwards on the floor, struggling to get way from Connie. The girl deliberately raised her gun and fired. Blood splattered her face, her unkempt hair flaring up like a bloody halo. When her eyes met Amata's, they were dark with rage. Amata started forward.

"Don't. You don't want to see this" Connie gestured towards the other side of a deli case – through the glass Amata could make out dismembered bodies sprawled on the floor. Several were a lot smaller than the others…

Cricket peered over the counter and whistled. "Where'd Danny get a string of settlers?" The kid stripped Connie's kill of its weapons and armor."Good reason to kill 'im as any; Dan was a sick bastard." He patted the corpse's cheek. "How does it feel to get a taste of your own poison Danny?"

Amata focused in the blood spilling over the boy's hands, and her stomach heaved.

* * *

The walk back to Megaton was tense. Connie ranged ahead, Cricket trailing after her, and Amata brought up the rear. **_Kaboom!_** Bits and pieces of metal rained down around them. a plume of smoke rose in a black pillar against the sky.

"What th-?"

Cricket shrugged. "I rigged it to explode." He said matter-of-factly. "If we missed any, they won't be able to use it as a base anymore."

Connie paused on a rise and glanced over her shoulder, catching Amata hugging herself as though she'd caught a chill. In a post-apocalyptic desert. Her stride sped up, matching the roiling in her gut; She didn't even bother saying anything about Cricket's little surprise. She could have cried when Megaton came into view, the town lights shining across the dimming plain. Her pack was dragging at her shoulders, and every part of her body ached. Behind her she could hear Amata panting. Being part of the hardworking maintenance crew had perks for stamina, it seemed. Connie had to admit Amata never complained.

Tension built in her shoulders as they walked to the house; she almost didn't hear Cricket's parting words. The rest of the walk was silent as the grave. She finally closed the door behind her and dragged herself up to their room.

"Connie."

"Yes?" Connie dropped her pack with a thud.

"That guy… you just shot him. He was begging you… A-and you shot him."

_She sounds like she did when they killed Jonas._

Connie fiddled with her belt buckle, but didn't turn to face the other woman.

"You just shot a man in the face in cold blood! Don't you feel anything?"

She started yanking things out of her pack. Suddenly she was feeling… angry.

"Are you going to just keep ignoring me?"

She whirled to face Amata. "What the fuck do you think I'm supposed to be feeling? They were going to fucking kill us!" The shock in Amata's face mirrored her own.

"We didn't have to go in there. We had a choice."

"No. We didn't. This is the kind of life we live now. Or are you already sorry you left the vault?"

Amata's eyes narrowed. "What was that supposed to mean?"

"You don't get it, do you? This is reality. We can't expect someone to protect us." Connie's eyes leveled pointedly at Amata.

"Oh, so you're saying I can't defend myself."

"You won't. You've been protected too much."

"That's not fair! I couldn't hel–"

" _It doesn't matter._ You've always had Daddy protecting you."

"And you've never needed protecting? I seem to remember someone who had breakdowns over a little noise."

Connie came up short, something feral surfacing on her face.

"Don't wait up. Wouldn't want the Overseer's daughter to sleep with the commoners." She hissed. Then she whirled and stalked out the door, didn't see where she was going, felt nothing but the storm of guilt and rage whirling in her chest. She stumbled down the stairs – not because she couldn't see, not because of her tears – and out into the night. Connie paced the perimeter metal wall that surrounded Megaton, restless as a caged animal.

What exactly had Amata expected her to do? The wastes were a new world, a harsher one, one that wanted to kill them. Connie felt nothing for those men she killed; their deaths were no harder than crushing a radroach. It ate at her, that they didn't mean anything. That wasn't normal, was it? Amata had hit exactly on her insecurities. Then she'd lashed out at Amata, – as if that didn't make her hurt more.

Her fists pressed to her mouth. _I am_ not _going to cry out here, dammit!_ She thought savagely. A small sound brought her attention back to her surroundings. A slightly older blonde woman in a long leather coat peered at her with darting dark eyes. It looked like she had just emerged from the house behind her. Connie combed her brain for the woman's name, she was sure Amata had mentioned– Lucy, Lucy West, that was it.

"Whatta you want?" She managed to croak, and was gratified that her voice didn't break.

"Uh…actually I was just coming to see you. H-how d'ya feel about taking a trip to Arefu?"

Connie slipped into their room. It took a few moments of blind groping, but eventually she tugged her bag out from under the bed. How… Amata, to put all their things away. She studied the other girl's sleeping face in the green glow of her Pipboy. Amata's eyes were swollen, and she was sprawled artlessly on the bed. A faint smile worked its way onto Connie's lips. _Like a little kid…_ She made to pull the blanket over the darker girl's shoulders, then thought better of it. _There are so many things I need to tell you… but I'm afraid. I don't know what to say…_ She felt a little sick, knowing she'd made her best friend so upset, but she wasn't ready to see the younger girl again yet.

With a start, Connie typed a short command into her Pipboy, and a loading screen appeared on Amata's. Then diary entries flickered to life on the screen, green letters burning the truth into the dark. Then she faded into the night, into the wastes, leaving her Father's notes to explain what she couldn't. She'd scarcely walked for an hour when something hot and crackling hit her in the back. She felt so… light headed... A band of cool metal slipped around her neck, closing with a dry click. A voice - where had she heard that voice before? – told her to follow. _What a nice voice._ She thought dreamily, trailing after the dark form.

* * *

Somewhere in this city is a road I know  
Where we could make it  
But maybe there's no making it now

\- It Is What It Is, Lifehouse

* * *

 


	5. Innocent Child

Connie gingerly clutched her aching head. _Shit. I've really got to stop waking up like this…_

"Huh? Looks like you're awake."

Connie flinched away from the voice bouncing around in her skull, opening her eyes a hair's breadth.

"Could you try not to talk so loud?" she managed to croak. A boy's round, freckled face appeared in her vision. His tattered red-and-white sweatshirt and jeans had seen better days.

"Whatever, Mungo." The boy shrugged and left her field of vision.

"Wait! Angh, wait." Connie hauled herself into a sitting position. "Where… where are we?" A cursory scan revealed a small chain link pen with a hard-packed earth floor. Beyond that… "Oh fuck." _Am I in_ hell?

A dark, crumbling city dominated the skyline. Occasionally a burst of flame set the smoggy sky ablaze. Haunting sounds of the shrieking of metal-on-metal, manic laughter, and terrified screams drifted through the still air. They were in the center of an otherwise clear area studded with shoddily constructed cages.

"I heard the Slavers talking. Called this place 'The Pitt'."

Her gaze turned to the boy crouched in the opposite corner of the pen. On either side of him were two small girls, one dark as the other was fair. "Who are you?" she asked them quietly.

The boy lifted his chin. "I'm Squirrel." He tapped the dark, sharp-eyed girl's shoulder, then patted the other, smaller girl clinging to his shirt. "This'ns Penny, and she's Bumble." The two girls wore patchwork clothing only slightly better than his: a pair of ratty overalls and dirty rocket ship pyjamas respectively.

All three were wearing collars, and Connie belatedly realized she was wearing one too. _Oh, no._

"I'm scared," Bumble whispered, tightening her grip on Squirrel's shirt.

You don't gotta worry. I'm real smart, remember? I'll get us outta this." Squirrel didn't look as confident as he was trying to sound.

"Hello, Pets. We'll get you to where you belong, shall we?" a contralto voice came from directly behind Connie.

She managed to turn her head enough to see the strange woman, only just realizing how drained she felt. The woman was probably pretty once, Connie thought, with a fine-boned face, and dark brown eyes. One eye was obscured by cheek length black bangs on an otherwise shaved skull. Open lesions covered the skin her leather armor left visible. It made Connie wince.

The door swung open and Connie fell backwards, landing in a pile at the woman's feet. Connie flinched away when the woman loomed over her. The Raider's mouth twisted into something that might pass for a smile.

"Lulu won't hurt you, Pets. She only bites when Ashur commands it."

Then the woman – Lulu? – hauled Connie to her feet by the collar of her jumpsuit.

"Come, Pets." She turned and walked away, clearly not expecting them to resist.

Connie's eyes narrowed. There was no way a raider would behave that way if there wasn't something protecting her back.

Squirrel hadn't moved from his spot.

 _Come on, let's go!_ Connie tried to tell him without drawing Lulu's attention.

He lifted his chin, almost defiantly. _No!_

 _Now, dumbass._ She growled.

"Now, now, what would Ashur think if he saw you acting so **untrained**?" Lulu's voice sounded next to her ear, low and harsh. "Come, or does Lulu have to punish you?"

Squirrel's eyes widened for a fraction of a second, his gaze shifting between the slave he just met and the slaver whose eyes were gleaming with a disquieting light. Realizing that what he was up against was more than he could handle, he lead the girls out of the pen.

Lulu observed the slaves for a moment longer, then turned on her heel without a word.

Connie hesitated for only a moment before following, having little choice but to obey now. The narrow streets twisted and twined around shells of abandoned buildings, and she thought it should be a dead city, a city corroded by rust and radiation. Yet the scattered clearings in the rubble contained little fenced-in settlements, workshops, and businesses, and gazing at her surroundings with awe, it seemed the city's corpse was coming alive, a pre-war zombie unwilling to die.

They might have walked for ten minutes or an hour, but finally they passed through another chain-link fence topped with razor wire. The town was mixture of pre-war buildings and ramshackle shacks arranged in a semi-circle around a massive dry fountain.

"Midea!" Lulu stood waiting with her hands on her hips. "Midea!" she called again somewhat shrilly, her voice edged with impatience.

A woman who looked as worn as her clothing slipped out of one of the shacks to stand before the Raider.

Connie frowned at the woman, feeling pity and anger boiling in her stomach. What was this, some sort of slavery?

She awaited her orders with her hands folded demurely in front of her. It might actually look demure, if her hands weren't white knuckled. She was unhappy, that was for sure, but Lulu apparently did not notice.

"These are the new Pets." The Raider gave Connie a haughty, lingering look-over before turning to regard the children behind with the same unpleasant expression, smirking slyly. "See to it that they know their place."

A thinly veiled sour expression flitted across Midea's face. "As you say." She then offered her hand to the kids, forcing a reassuring smile. "Come on, kids. Do you want to go meet the others?"

Bumble took Midea's hand, keeping her death-grip on Squirrel with the other. Penny glanced back at Connie, and offered up a weak smile before following her friends.

Connie attempted to follow, but a hand clamped on her shoulder with an iron grip. She swallowed, dreading what she knew was about to come.

Lulu turned her half-way around, and a tiny shiver ran down Connie's spine at her hungry smile. "As for you, pretty…"

A finger trailed under her jaw and down her neck, leaving Connie's skin crawling in its wake. She was scared, but she wouldn't give the Raider the pleasure of knowing that, and so she remained standing upright with her arms held defiantly at her sides.

"Sometime soon, we're going to get to know each other better," Lulu purred, leaning in closer. "Won't that be fun?"

Then she shoved Connie through the gate and slammed it behind the bewildered girl, who barely caught herself in time.

"But until then… wait for me, my pet." With that said the Raider winked, turning on her heel to walk away briskly, her movements sharp and forceful.

Peoples warmed out of the buildings the moment Lulu left, and the number of them made Connie wonder how they'd fit. There had to be around a hundred or so, all told. She must look as dazed as she felt, because one of the women broke away from the group. The woman hovered uncertainly at her side.

"Hey, I'm Milly. Are you all right?"

Connie shuddered. She really didn't fell like talking right now.

The one called Milly smiled hesitantly, and the warmth in her eyes was more than enough to make the weeping sores on her face irrelevant. "That was a good piece of luck. Looks like you won't have to worry about Lulu for a while."

Connie swallowed. "For a while?"

Milly raked a hand through her short maroon hair and attempted another smile. "Um…Why don't we introduce you to the others?"

The way Milly avoided the question was hardly subtle, but Connie decided to let it lie for now. She turned to face the roiling crowd. As far as looks went, the group had only one thing in common – the scabby, fractured appearance of their skins, which also shared an oddly washed-out quality. Even the people whose skins should clearly be dark had a yellowed tinge.

The next half-hour or so was a blur of half-remembered names and faces. So Connie was unspeakably grateful when Midea pulled her aside. The woman's expression was deathly serious.

"You're to work in the control room with the boy." She jerked Connie's chin in Squirrel's direction. "You'd better do as the masters tell you. Don't look them in the eye, don't argue, keep your head down… you'll be fine." And then she left.

And Connie couldn't help but sigh. _Wonderful_.

* * *

Her first impression was a cacophony of noise. The shriek of metal-on-metal, shouted orders, and screams of agony

_Clatter, screech, clang, sizzle…_

Flashes of light from the furnaces and scattering sparks from metal cutters lit the shadows like tiny fireworks.

She was distantly aware of the slowly building tension in her muscles, the way her skin was starting to crawl. She forced her heart to slow, then moved forward, weaving around workers and their loads. Eventually she found the place she was looking for – a door marked 'Employees Only'.

Connie pushed through and caught sight of the person she was looking for – a muscular man clad in rags, with a large axe/saw hybrid strapped to his back. He smiled and wiped greasy grey hair out of his eyes, and Connie was briefly reminded of her father.

"Hmm… You you're the new recruits? Welcome to hell. Either of you got any experience with machinery?"

Squirrel trailed in after Connie, tugging irritably at his collar, "I kin reprogram computers."

"I was on the maintenance crew in the… my hometown." Without looking, she slapped Squirrel's hand away from his neck. "Quit it, you're going to set it off. You want to get fried?"

Squirrel glared, but stopped fidgeting.

"You kids'll work on the compu-"

'What's your name?"

The man stopped short, surprised, and smiled again. Connie thought it was oddly strained.

"Marco." He turned and ghosted his hands over the keyboard before speaking again. "So you'll be working on the computer controls…"

* * *

Connie's head hurt. She wasn't sure exactly how long she had spent focusing on the string of green letters and numbers that comprised the steel mills program, but it was far too long. It didn't help that she'd woke up that morning feeling like she had a cross between a hangover and a concussion.

She trailed after Marco and Squirrel, massaging the back of her neck and wishing that the tension that followed her around all day would dissipate. They were almost to her 'district' – what they called the little fenced-in compounds that comprised the slave quarters – when a child's shriek lanced through the air. And then there was tense, heavy silence.

Connie rushed forward, her body moved by an instinct deeper than understanding.

She saw a man with stringy brown hair and a greasy face with the skin peeled down to meaty flesh, who had a death-grip on a little dark-haired girl.

His face was cracked into a skeleton's grin where his cheeks and lips were eaten away. The little girl was Penny, Connie realized with a shock. The kid hadn't talked much, but she seemed sweet, and she had smiled at Connie.

Briefly, As Connie watched the scene play out before her, her gaze met with the girl's and a very different pair of warm brown eyes flashed in her mind's eye. What would she do if that creepy bastard was looking at her Amata like that?

In a heartbeat she made her decision.

She and launched herself into the air and came crashing down on the raider, throwing him off Penny with force that sent them rolling, and consequently, Connie ended up on top of him.

He seemed confused at first, but that quickly turned to annoyance, as if she were a fly on his nose.

He growled throatily as Connie perched on his chest, muscles coiled beneath her thighs like some self-satisfied big cat. So many painful things she wanted to do to him, she couldn't even make up her mind.

And suddenly seeming to realize the position they were in, his annoyance turned to smugness and he smirked up at her with his destroyed face. "Ya don't haff tha gutsh, bitsh."

Connie could barely make out the words, the slur of snakelike hisses, and it was unsettling.

His hand ghosted over her ribs. A swollen, scabby red tongue peeked through his teeth as he snarled menacingly up at her. "Whadda you tshhink they'll do taya before they kill ya? An' then I'll tear the girl up _anywaysh_."

She could hear the kid's frightened whimper behind her, the shared panic that burned in their veins. Wasteland children were far from innocent, but the thought of what little remained being tarnished... **How could people do this? How could people do this?**

A burning moment passed, and the rage inside began to grow, springing up suddenly as a flame fed by oil.

Something in Connie twisted… and broke. A dark gleam entered her eyes, even as it entered her mind, lurking, gnawing, clawing around the edges. _Finishhimsilencehimendhim…_

He was still stroking her side while all of this happened, his confidence peaking. He thought she was reconsidering, that she'd remove herself and leave him to finish his business in peace, just as any sensible slave would do.

But Connie was anything but sensible. _this. is. not. allowed._

The Raider shifted a little, growing uncomfortable. Not that he didn't enjoy being straddled, but the way the girl was looking at him…

"You think so?" She said speaking for the first time. Each word was drawn out in a dangerous purr. She leaned a little closer. "… reeaaally?"

His face twitched with alarm, and even though he wanted to, he could not escape the depths of her eyes.

Her hand closed around a triangular fist-sized chunk of concrete, raising it above his head, and she watched as the delicious fear spread across the man's face. He'd fucked with the wrong person, pushed the wrong mind over the edge. And he knew it and it was beautiful.

The cry of protest came too late.

The rock pounded into his skull, almost independent of Connie's thoughts, again and again and again, until his face was a bloody crater and grey matter splattered across the stones. She could hear someone screaming, but her mind didn't understand. Finally she slowed, then stopped, trembling.

Gazing down at what she had done, no, what _someone else_ had done, she dropped the rock and scrambled away, retching. Penny sniffled, and Connie winced as though struck.

_Ohgodohgodohgodohgod…_

Her stomach heaved. The metallic scent of blood mixed with the acrid taste of bile on her tongue.

Meanwhile, Lulu watched from the distance. True, she was supposed to be that idiot Tom's backup, but this was so much more... delicious. She watched the new slave through narrowed eyes, glorious with scarlet splashed on white skin, and hungered. Lulu licked her lips. _Mine._

* * *

It starts with pain  
Followed by hate  
Fueled by the endless questions no one can answer  
A stain covers your heart, and tears you apart  
Just like a sleeping cancer

I don't believe men are born to be killers  
I don't believe the world can't be saved  
How did you get here and when did it start  
An innocent child with a thorn in his heart

\- World So Cold - 12 Stones


	6. Ghost

Amata snuggled deeper under her blanket, trying to shut out the clamor from outside. Whoever was making that ruckus needed to quiet the hell down. She huffed and rubbed at her eyes with the palms of her hands. It was no use. Maybe she could drag Connie out of bed and - a sharp pang went through her chest as memories from the night before filtered into her consciousness. Connie hadn't meant the things she said, right? She never once said anything about the "advantages" of being the Overseer's daughter because she knew better. She knew how Amata felt about that, how much it would hurt. Especially since... her fingers brushed over the bruise on her cheek, and she swallowed the lump in her throat.

She hauled herself out of bed and buckled the holster around her waist, nearly braining herself on the wall as she stumbled down the stairs. A quick search of the house revealed that Connie must not have come home last night. Or she left before Amata woke up. Neither boded well for the mechanic's mood when Amata finally tracked her down. They… they needed to talk about this.

She drifted down the stairs to the open-air bar at the Brass Lantern and had scarcely sat down when someone shoved a meat patty wrapped in rootbread into her hand. "You all right, sweet? You look like hell."

"Thanks. I'm fine… Have you seen Connie?"

In her mental state Amata found Jenny's knowing smile exasperating. "Not since last night. You two been fighting?"

Amata bit into the wrap more violently than necessary.

"Com'on, you can tell me."

The brunette sighed and glared balefully at her food. "We had an argument, she hasn't come back home since last night."

Jenny cast her an amused smile. "I'm sure she's fine. She'll probably be back before I've got lunch on the griddle."

Amata downed the rest of her food, even though she wasn't hungry. It would be stupid to waste it. "I think I'll go look for her anyway." _She's probably beating herself up about it already._

So where should she look? The water processing plant? That was like her, going to work herself until she passed out. Amata paused. Why wasn't she angrier? She wasn't sure. Maybe because she knew that they were both hurting. She made her way through the busy streets, dodging traders bringing in their wares and tough-looking scavengers looking for supplies. It was a market day, so the sleepy town was more crowded than usual.

Clambering up and around the deathtrap ramps, she finally slipped into the Water Processing Plant. Huge machines held together by rust and rivets chugged away, deafening in the small space. The old man was snoozing slumped on a workbench with his face pressed into a pile of scrap metal, but there was no sign of the wayward mechanic. Moira's shop next then. Amata knew perfectly well her shy friend wouldn't be in the middle of such a crowd, but she felt the need to check anyway. Another scampering path through the chaos and struggle past the traders blocking the door.

"Have you seen Connie?"

Moira grinned at her in a friendly to the point of disconcerting way. "Why no, I haven't. Maybe you could come back later? There's a peach."

Amata allowed herself to be shoved towards the door, and tried not to feel irritated by the trader's brusque friendliness.

She wasn't that worried yet. Connie likely found some place off the beaten path to hole up until the rush died down. So there was nothing to worry about. Really. Amata wormed her way back out of the store and scanned the eye-confounding web of steel. Surely it couldn't be hard to spot that head of hair in this dull place? Nothing, not a single glimpse of red.

Amata caught sight of one of Connie's little friends – Maggie – crouched on one of the ramps.

The little girl was holding the crystal Connie found when they were children up to the sun, using it to cast rainbows on the ground. She looked up as Amata approached and grinned. "Hiya miss 'mata!"

"Have you seen Connie today, Maggie?"

Maggie pouted. "No, I haven' seen 'er since yesterday. An she promised she would play with me today!"

Amata searched high and low, but she couldn't find the older girl anywhere. The panic was beginning to set in. What if Connie had gotten lost? Hurt? Kidnapped? Amata had no way of knowing. She checked her Pipboy for the first time… and noticed the flashing file icon near the clock. How long had that been there? She opened it, and saw a long row of files, each neatly dated and titled. She selected one at random.

The pipboy hissed and spat, but a voice finally emerged from the static.

_My name is Doctor James Ward. I have been... commissioned... to do a case study on the unique medical conditions of Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, otherwise known as "The Pitt" by one "Lord Ashur". The date is… October 4, 2273. I am assisted by Doctors Sandra Kundanika and Catherine Ward._

_I have been provided with medical samples – mostly the fresh killed corpses - of what the populace describes as "Trogs." I will be performing exploratory examinations sometime this evening…_

Amata gaped at her pipboy. …What? They… Connie's father was from the surface? Impulsively, she tapped another journal entry, cutting Doctor Ward off mid-speech.

This time faint giggling opened the journal.

_Girls… Girls! Leave that equipment alone!_

His voice was sharp, almost panicked. Amata heard more nervous giggling and shuffling.

_Sorry mister Ward._

… _sorry daddy-_

… _It's fine, girls. Nothing seems to be broken. Run along and play now._

_-sigh- My name is doctor James Ward, and the date is March 13, 2266. A recent bout of illness prompted closer investigation of the subject. It seems there are negative effects when the radiation raises above ambient levels. Further study may be required. Of note… an incident with one of the generators showed increased… signs of aggression… Oh God, Connie… my baby girl…/_

The tape cut off transmission.

Amata gaped at her Pipboy. What exactly was she hearing? She selected another with a sharp jab, not sure if she wanted to here more and incapable of stopping.

_I… I have arrived in Megaton after over a month of travel. The owner of the local bar, Moriarty, agreed to help me get in contact with the vault residents. I can only hope they will take us in._

Amata's eyes narrowed as they landed on the bar at the peak of the town, and the man leaning against the railing out front, a cigarette glowing between his cupped fingers. She squared her shoulders and made for the nearest ramp. It was time for some answers.

* * *

If I walk down this hallway  
Tonight, it's too quiet  
So I pat through the dark  
And call you on the phone  
Push your old numbers  
And let your house ring  
'Til I wake your ghost

\- Greg Laswell, Your Ghost


	7. wake me up

* * *

Connie pressed her back into the curve of the wall, trying to draw some strength from the sturdy stone. Connie could hear the rain pattering on the distant roof, and faint shrieking - something about the water burning. Even without the hint she would know radiation was there ready to char holes in her brain. It was a solid presence to her in this place, like holding her hand over a steam pipe and feeling the hot air press up against her palm.

She couldn't bring herself to pace, but her eyes traced the area again and again in a dull search for understanding. Her cage was at least three times her height in length and the same tall, fashioned of rusty fencing, bubblegum and prayers. There were two entrances – pipe covered by a heavy grate, and the gate that led into the larger cavern.

The cave itself was maybe two or three times bigger than the Atrium in the vault, the roof lost in dramatic shadows cast by the spotlights. The floor was strewn with broken bottles, crates, and general filth. In the center there was a rickety shack that was essentially a roof held up by scrap wood walls, and there were cinderblocks scattered about in haphazard piles. Chains hung from the ceiling and walls in arcs and tangles like morbid garlands. The smears of rust red on the gates and walls and stone and – did nothing to reassure her.

There was comfort in focusing on the sloppy welding that fixed the fences in place, the exact measurement of her makeshift cage. It drowned out the fading into sobs that filtered through the rain, and the way the walls were coiling tighter and closer like a snake. Of course, she couldn't rule out the chance she was going mad.

She didn't know how long she stared at a dripping crack in the stone ceiling before low laughter dragged her into the real world. "Guess you're the scab that's gonna play with Big Guy tonight?"

Connie moved her head just enough to catch the sight of a heavyset woman with half of her blindingly pink hair shaved off. Her face was cratered with the same weeping lesions that plagued everyone else, the infection lying deep and dark under the skin like bruises. Even if she had any words in her head at the moment, Connie didn't have the answer. It was tiresome how she reverted to old patterns when she finally reached her limit.

The woman continued though, so it probably didn't matter. "I always hated the sonofabitch you killed, so I got a present for ya." A long, heavy knife clattered next to Connie's hand. "Give us a good show, scab. And if you live, remember old Faye helped ya out."

Her hand curled around the weight of the wooden handle, her eyes still fixed on the Faye's retreating back. She listened until the woman's cackling laughter faded.

The hours passed in a numb blur – the exhaustion of the last few years and this fate too much to handle - until a cacophony of shouting and hooting snapped her out of her stupor. The noise overhead had been growing steadily for the past hour, but it was only now that it penetrated the fog in her head.

"For tonight's entertainment, we've got a scab who got a little uppity with old Tommy, if you know what I mean." The man's voice was the only thing that she could hear clearly, and the words alone filled her with foreboding. He was too animated for this place, a manic ringmaster to a mad circus. "And by that I mean she bashed his fucking head in with a rock. You know what that means?"

If she leaned hard against the fence she could catch a glance of a circle carved in the stone above topped off with more of the ubiquitous corroded fencing. Dozens of diseased faces peered down into the cavern, their lips drawn back into hyena grins.

A chant rose from the clamor. "Fight, Fight, Fight!"

The gates that led into the arena screeched as it rolled to the side. The chanting rose in volume until it rattled her bones - she didn't even realize she was backing away until her shoulders met the metal bars.

"Let's give a big fucking hand for the lil' girl!" The announcer roared, and the audience responded in a wordless howl.

Suddenly a jolt of pain went through her whole body, like a rod shoved through her back and down her spine. Connie yowled and spun, and she caught sight of Lulu leering through the grating of the tunnel. She held what Connie recognized as a cattle prod.

"So we meet again. How cute, you're scared."

In her startled, frightened state Connie could only produce a snarl (what the hell?) her lips curling back to reveal her blunt teeth. The woman only laughed. "Got your game face on already, hm? This might be fun after all."

She waved the prod and laughed again. "Get going."

Connie swayed in her half-crouching position, but no matter how much she would like to slash that shit-eating grin off her face, she couldn't reach the raider. Before she could think better of it, she spun and scrambled through the gate.

She couldn't see the enclosure on the far side of the arena from her cage. It was sturdier than the one that held her before, fashioned of sheets of metal and steel girders wound with barbed wire. Something big moved – she could catch the faintest glimpse through slim gaps in the bars; she could hear snuffles and growls and something clawing at the heavy gate. The fear in her gut twisted tighter if that were possible.

"And now for the star you've all been waiting for: Big Guy the Yao Guai!"

Holy fu – a massive shape came barreling out of the opened gate. For a moment the creature stood out in sharp relief – the bulging shoulders and tufts of greasy hair hanging off pallid flesh, the feverish, beady black eyes. She could smell the putrid odor of rotting flesh and hear the wheezing as its massive sides heaved with each labored breath. Connie shoved the knife into her belt and scrambled up the side of the hut, protruding nails tearing at her palms. The entire structure shuddered when the yao guai brushed up against it with a broad shoulder.

The yao guai rammed the shack again. The crowd above roared and bullets thunked into the wood on either side of her, sending stinging splinters flying into her arms and face. She had to get off this death trap; Connie could already hear the wood giving way.

Her eyes landed on a chain dangling just beyond the edge of the roof. She made a running start, and as she pushed off she felt the wood lurch and crumble from under her feet. She jerked in the air and suddenly her left leg was on fire; her fingers spasmed and her sweaty palms slipped when she caught hold of the chain. A glance down revealed several ragged claw marks carved into her calf, blood dripping freely from mangled flesh. The yao gaui stood on its hind legs, swiping viciously at the air just below her booted foot.

The geiger counter was ticking like a clock, and the pain in her leg throbbed in time. Every muscle in her body was going tense, the fear and pain and frustration clenched like a fist in her chest. The crowd was laughing and jeering, trash and rocks rained down on Connie from above. Suddenly she was _furious_. An unearthly screech made her ears hurt - it took her a moment to realize her throat ached. She screamed again, and the yao guai teetered uncertainly in place.

She let go of the chain and landed on the yao guai's back, hands knotting into the thick, greasy hair. Her arms were nearly jerked out of their sockets when it lunged. It ran and twisted, reached back and tried to claw her off while she pressed closer to avoid the deadly claws. Her blood roared in her ears and the animal scent was strong in her nose. Her fist rose again and again, stabbing into the rubbery flesh with the knife.

Even with all her strength the knife barely went in. The creature's movements only became more violent – it threw itself against the wall, scraping her face and side against the rough stone wall. She growled through gritted teeth. She had to end this now or she was going die. It came to her in a flash.

_"You could have broken your spine, sweetheart." His brow was creased with worry as he probed at her back. "Please… I know changing the bulbs in the Atrium is your job, but be more careful." Afterward he showed her charts, explained everything in painful detail, as if all she needed was a refresher course in biology to remember her limits._

She reared back and slammed the knife home at the place where the spine met the skull, roughly wriggling the blade up into the gap. The yao guai's forelegs crumpled abruptly, throwing her over its head and shoulders like a rodeo horse. The force of hitting the ground knocked the wind out of her lungs, and she was still lying there gasping when the tormented creature finally let out a last, rattling breath. Connie saw the fever fade from its eyes and the tension leech from the hulking limbs, and for the first time she realized that its hide was streaked with scars. Bruises, burns, and open wounds told the saga of its torment. She scrambled to her feet and resisted the urge to hurl.

It seemed like forever Connie stood trembling and panting in the middle of that arena, the knife gripped tight in her blood-slick hand.

"Oh… uh, holy fuck. You go kid." The announcer's voice took on a flippant gravity. "Well there you go! The winner is... wait, we don't know the little fucker's name? Uh… well I guess put your hands together for that Yao Guai Girl!"

The knife dropped to the dirt as her hands shot to her ears, the roar of the crowd echoing in her ears louder than the pounding of their steel machines, the blood in her ears, the screaming fear inside her head.

"Yao Guai! Guai! Guai! Guai!"

Her eyes fixed on the corpse of the yao guai at her feet, and a terrible premonition sunk into her bones.

* * *

Don't try to wake me up  
Even if the sun really does come out tomorrow  
Don't believe anything I say anymore  
In the morn, in the morning  
Bricks to this old house are breaking  
Steel would have weathered  
But now forlorning  
It's alarming how loud the silence screams  
No warn, no warn, no warning...

\- Alexithymia


End file.
